Lead on to Fortune
by cgner
Summary: Neither Prince James nor barmaid Lily has any interest in running the Kingdom of Gryffindor. This is the story of how they changed their minds.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **Neither Prince James nor barmaid Lily has any interest in running the Kingdom of Gryffindor. This is the story of how they changed their minds.

**Author's Notes: **

1. This story consists of thirteen chapters and an epilogue, and a new chapter will go up every Tuesday.

2. Thank you, Stefanie, for your excellent beta work and virtual hand holding! Thanks, poor tumblr users who put up with my angsting for months and were exceptionally supportive as I wrote this story. And as always thanks, Sarah, for being my first reader.

3. Check my profile for links to a) a map of how the UK is split up among the four houses/kingdom in this story b) the story soundtrack.

4. This story is dedicated to anyone who's ever felt not good enough.

* * *

_We at the height are ready to decline.  
There is a tide in the affairs of men  
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;  
Omitted, all the voyage of their life  
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.  
On such a full sea are we now afloat,  
And we must take the current when it serves,  
Or lose our ventures. _

Julius Caesar IV ii 269–276

**Chapter One**

He noticed her immediately: a pretty girl with long ginger hair standing in the back doorway to the Three Broomsticks, smiling and shivering. A lone candle, ensconced in iron and glass, illuminated the gentle evening snowfall that entranced her. James assumed by her lack of sensible clothing that she must have ducked outside only for a minute.

The girl started when he stepped out from the doorway to Honeydukes, but to her credit, she didn't shout.

"It's beautiful out, isn't it?" James said. Much too beautiful an evening to stay cooped up in the castle, he told himself. Much better to get out and explore on his first night back in Hogsmeade for the season, even if Sirius refused to come with because he hated the snow.

"What are you doing, lurking about in doorways?" she said.

She eyed him cautiously as he approached, and tensed when he leaned against the wall next to her. She was noticeably shorter than he was, with stunning green eyes and a smattering of light freckles across her nose.

"Oh, the usual," he said. "Shenanigans, tomfoolery, hooligan…ery."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps you should take your tomfoolery elsewhere for the evening."

"If either of us is the fool, it's you. You shouldn't come outside this time of year without a cloak on."

She drew herself up to her full height and forced her arms down to her sides. "I don't believe you're in a position to tell me what to do."

She would've been intimidating if she weren't still trembling from the cold. Her dress, while in decent enough repair, didn't offer much in the way of warmth.

James couldn't suppress his smile. This was why he came to town—to get that sense of equality he'd never get at home. No one ever spoke back to him there except his parents and Sirius. Even in the village, not many common women would speak to a nobleman like this. It was…refreshing. And fun. She was pretty, and interesting enough to pass an evening speaking to. If she'd let him, of course.

"Well, move along already," she said.

"I'm also not in the habit of following instructions from strangers," he said with a lopsided grin. "Besides, I just wanted to say hello. You seemed like you were having a nice moment there."

"Yes." She lifted her chin. "I was. Until a certain someone with a stupid hat and likely less-than-savory intentions decided to intrude."

He ignored her comment about the hat that his mother had knitted for him. In all honesty, it did resemble a dead ferret.

"I can see how you might believe me to be some sort of thief," he said, "but I assure you I'm not."

"Oh, and as all thieves are legally required to declare themselves as such, I can only assume you're telling the truth."

"I suppose if I were a thief, I would probably lie about it, but as I'm not a thief, I'm not lying."

She let out a brief laugh and turned around toward the door. "Good night."

"Oi."

He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she ducked his hand and glared at him.

"If you're not a thief come to steal the few belongings I own," she said, "then we certainly don't have anything to discuss."

His mouth curved into a wicked grin. "Oh, you never know, we might have plenty in common. If nothing else, I'm sure I could do something for you. Whatever you need."

She rolled her eyes. "I find that highly unlikely."

She pulled the door open to pass through, but he grabbed the door before she could shut it behind her.

"I swear, I was going to go into this pub before I saw you," he said, which was the truth.

She spun around and planted herself in the middle of the doorway. "No."

"No?"

"You are not allowed in my pub."

"Yours? I know for afact that Mr. Evans owns the pub," he countered. "He's a friend of mine."

She didn't immediately reply, her face going blank. Then the moment passed and she said, perfectly calmly, "Mr. Evans passed away and now Ms. Evans runs the pub."

James knew he'd put his foot in it.

"I'm truly very sorry to hear that," he said, and he meant it.

Mr. Evans had always been kind to James. Even though James suspected Mr. Evans had known the truth, he'd treated James like any other young hooligan.

"Yes, well, that's fine," she said, her conviction wavering only a bit, "but you still can't come in."

"And why not, Ms. Evans? I won't bother you for anything besides a drink, I promise. Would you really deny your pub willing business?"

She shot him a triumphant look. "I know who you are and I refuse to serve you."

"Oh." James deflated. So much for passing for normal. "Well, that's hardly fair. I've done nothing wrong. No one listens to me yet. I say things but it's like I'm not there, you know?"

"Truly, I do," she said dryly. "It's my right to refuse to serve patrons, so please finish your babbling and depart."

That put him in a bit of a bind. Either he insisted, revealing himself to everyone else, or he left, leaving him without a plan for the evening.

The latter sounded more appealing for the moment.

"Then it was nice to meet you, Ms. Evans." He reached up to tip his hat at her before remembering he wasn't wearing a tip-able hat. His mother's handiwork was a size too small and he had to fight to get it on at all.

"Tragically I can't say the same," she said, her voice falsely sweet, and she shut the door in his face.

James cursed the late Mr. Evans for revealing James' identity to his daughter, but just for a moment. He only hoped she hadn't shared his secret with the rest of the village.

Forlorn over the loss of Mr. Evans, and over the fact that he was now banned from his favorite pub in Hogsmeade, James tried to make a night of it at the Hog's Head instead. He'd never cared for it as much as The Three Broomsticks. While cheer and the soft glow of candles filled The Three Broomsticks, The Hog's Head seemed filled to the brim with seedy tankards and seedier patrons. People didn't talk to each other in The Hog's Head, and considering James had only snuck out in search of new stories from strangers and the thrill of passing for someone boring and normal, The Hog's Head didn't exactly fit his needs.

Not to mention he'd apparently sat in some big oaf's favorite chair and nearly ended up in a duel. A duel he would have lost since, at the ripe age of eighteen, his father had confiscated his wand and his sword in a gambit to keep James in the castle.

Clearly his father had never mastered the secret passages of Hogwarts like James had.

James drank a pint alone, silently toasting Mr. Evans, and headed back toward the Honeydukes passage to the castle.

* * *

"Mr. Evans died," James said, letting himself drop onto his bed.

"That's a shame. He was a good man."

For once, Sirius didn't come off as flippant. He even put down the book he'd been reading, something French-looking and therefore awful, and moved to sit on the end of his bed.

James had felt silly asking the castle staff to move Sirius' bed into his floor of the tower, but it was a big empty room in a big empty castle. Even with two sets of bedroom furniture in the room, it still could have easily fit one or two more people.

"Agreed," said James. "His daughter runs The Three Broomsticks now. Gorgeous and sassy, outstanding eyes."

"Oh ho ho." Sirius grinned at him. "I never knew he had a saucy wench of a daughter. Do I detect a trace of interest?"

"Shut it."

"Do tell me about her, James. Did she have the music of Northern Gryffindor in her voice? Did her hair shine like a new coin?"

"For the amount of reading you do, you are really quite shit at metaphors."

"I'm a reader, not an author."

"Point taken. And anyway, she actually has more of a southern accent."

"Mr. Evans always sounded like a northerner to me."

"I always thought so, too. Maybe her mother was from the south?"

James regretted his errant comment when Sirius' face lit up with glee.

"Are you enamored of her, Prongs? Shall I send word to your parents that you have at last found a wife to bear your children? I assume we could immediately commence with the festivities. They might take issue with a barmaid, but then again they might content themselves that it's not a barman."

James reached for his wand, remembered he lacked one, and resorted to throwing a pillow at Sirius. "Sod off. Like your parents don't want you to get married."

Sirius taunted James by pulling out his own wand, and raised his eyebrows in a challenge. James held up his hands in silent surrender, and Sirius pocketed his wand.

"Naturally they do," Sirius said, "but unlike you I have freed myself from the burden of giving a shit about what they want."

James wished he could do the same, but he couldn't move in with his best mate's family like Sirius had done. For one, the Blacks were madder than James' mother and in much worse ways, and for another, there were no families more powerful than James'. He envied Sirius his lowly viscountcy. No royal guards had shown up to snatch Sirius back when he'd run away, which was what James expected would happen if he moved in with someone like Remus.

"In any case, don't plan the wedding quite yet. Not only does she apparently know I'm the prince, she didn't particularly, er, take to me."

Sirius sat up straighter. "I now regret my decision to let you go alone. Would that I could have seen the Prince of Gryffindor get taken down a peg or three."

"In an alleyway, no less. Do you know, she actually slammed the door in my face."

"Definitely regretting my choices now."

"I mean, she wouldn't let me into The Three Broomsticks!" James leapt to his feet. "I had to go to The Hog's Head and you know how I feel about The Hog's Head."

"I do recall your previous tirades on the matter."

"Like I'm some shady character! The nerve of that girl. I've got sterling character, Sirius. _Sterling._"

"I like the sound of this girl already. She barred you from entering and you actually listened, which is more than most people can say."

James scoffed. "I was trying to be nice because her father died and everything, but I shouldn't have. What right does she have to hate me for being the prince? It's not like I asked to have the parents I do. Merlin, was she rude to me."

"I think you need to talk to her about this. Stand up for yourself, Prongs."

"You're right, I do!" James grabbed his cloak off its hook and headed for the door. He threw a look over his shoulder and demanded, "Aren't you coming?"

"Well, for one thing, it's half two in the morning."

James stopped putting on his cloak. "Oh. Right."

"Tomorrow night we'll go."

"Yes," James said, nodding. "Tomorrow."

* * *

The following night, they snuck through the tunnel after everyone important had gone to bed. It was much easier with Sirius since he had a wand and could light the way. On his own James had stumbled through the dark, musty tunnel and stubbed his toe more than once, but by wandlight they emerged into the alleyway behind Honeydukes unscathed.

James marched to the front door of The Three Broomsticks and opened it with as much of a dramatic flair as he could muster. A familiar rush of ale, smoke, and sweat rolled past them and out into the street.

His efforts were for naught, though, since Ms. Evans wasn't behind the bar when James barged in.

"Where is she?" Sirius asked, stopping at James' side.

"Oi, stop letting in the cold!" shouted a deep voice.

"Sorry." James shut the door behind him, trapping the cold night air outside.

The familiar scent of The Three Broomsticks made James smile as he took off his hat. This was the real Gryffindor: a normal pub where the bulk of the patrons looked to be loggers from the Forbidden Forest, with arms the size of the trees they cut down.

"I don't see her," James said. He wove through the crowded tables to reach the bar and found two empty stools near the fireplace at the end, Sirius trailing behind him.

Not more than a minute later, she came through the doorway, smiling and holding a large tray laden with plates full of food in one hand.

James watched her navigate through the pub with ease, at one point half-twirling to avoid a flailing hand from some inattentive patron. He couldn't hear what she said when she stopped at a table full of loggers, but the men roared with laughter, and she started passing around plates.

She abruptly turned and shouted, "Mary!" toward the doorway she'd come through.

Another girl about James' age, with dark hair and a friendly face, poked her head around the corner of the doorway.

"What!" shouted Mary over the din of the pub.

"Salt!"

"On it!" Mary smiled and saluted, then ducked back through the doorway and reemerged with a bowl of salt. She didn't have Ms. Evans' grace and nearly tripped over someone's shoe on the way to the table. After handing it off, she looked around the pub and spotted James and Sirius. This time she made for the wall and followed it rather than dodging through the crowd.

"Good evening," she said, stepping behind the bar. "What brings you two fine young gentlemen to The Three Broomsticks? May I get you some drinks?"

She rested her forearms on the bar and leaned toward them, smiling coyly.

Sirius let out one of his "a girl is flirting with me, make it stop, Prongs" sighs and gazed out over the crowd.

"Bring us two of whatever you fancy," James said. "Please."

"Right away."

She moved to the other end of the bar to prepare their drinks, and James turned back to Ms. Evans. She was still talking to one of the men at the table and seemed to be enjoying herself.

"I'm bored," Sirius said.

"This was your idea, I'd like to point out."

"Are you sure? Who can remember such trivial details?"

Mary returned with two pints of pale amber ale and placed them on the bar. "My brother brewed these. Nothing better in Northern Gryffindor, with God as my witness."

James lifted the tankard toward her and took a sip. It wasn't his favorite, whatever it was, but it was damn good, and he smiled at Mary.

Sirius stared at the tankard, sighed again, and deliberately left his face blank as he tried it.

"Where are you two from, then?" Mary said. "Don't think I've seen you around before. I'm Mary, by the way."

"I'm James and this is Sirius." James knew Sirius wouldn't engage, but she seemed nice enough. Maybe she'd side with him when Ms. Evans noticed their presence. She didn't appear to know who he was, which was promising. "We travel around a fair bit."

"Have you been up this way before? I could show you around later, if you like."

"Mary!" came Ms. Evans' voice from down the bar.

James took a deep breath and turned toward her, steeling himself.

Except she was looking at Mary, not him.

"Mr. Wood would like a cup of soup, when you've got a moment."

"In a minute! I'm nearly done here."

Only then did Ms. Evans realize whom Mary was talking to, based on the way her lips thinned. She marched down the narrow strip behind the bar and stopped in front of James.

"I believe I told you that you weren't welcome here."

"Naturally we had to rise to the challenge," Sirius said.

James spared him a glance and saw he was grinning, the bastard.

"I thought about what you said," James said, "and I don't think it's very fair. It's not like I can help who I am. I mean, yes, on the physical front I can, and I put a lot of work into my hair, but I mean beyond that."

"They seem really nice, Lily," Mary said, her voice quiet. Neither she nor Lily were shouting or giving any indication that things weren't perfectly well, and only the couple next to James was paying any attention to their conversation.

"I've certainly seen no evidence to that effect," Lily said.

"I take it back. This was a good decision," Sirius told James.

"I deserve to be served like anyone else," James said, not looking away from Lily's eyes.

Her shoulders tensed, and she spared a glance at the couple next to James. "Shall I ask one of the many men larger than you in my establishment to escort you out?"

"I don't think you will." James took another sip of his drink. "You obviously don't want to make a scene and neither do I. I've been coming here for a few years and I love this pub and I refuse to let you refuse me service."

"Also we haven't paid yet," Sirius added, "so unless you want to make these on the house…"

"Lily!" came a woman's voice from behind James.

James turned to see a tall, thin woman in shabby clothing standing only a couple steps behind him.

"Sorry to bother you," she said to Lily, "only I need some burn paste. Clara's gone and burned her hand something awful while cooking."

Lily's face brightened immediately. "Of course! I'll get some right away."

She dashed off to the back, and Mary took her chance and leaned in close to James and Sirius.

"What've you two done, then?" Mary said. "Something terribly scandalous?"

James had liked her from the start, and he liked her even more now. Her grey eyes were alight with amused mischief.

"No idea," James said, leaning in so he was only inches apart from her. "Don't let her throw us out? We loved Mr. Evans and he seemed to like us well enough."

Mary nodded. "We all did. I'll do what I can but she's stubborn as a mule."

"Thanks." James smiled. "Just in case she does, take this, yeah?" He dug in his pocket and paid at least double what he suspected he owed.

"Ta," she said. "She's been a right mess since her father died."

"What happened?"

"What happens to anyone? Death comes when he pleases. Lily found him herself, keeled over the desk in the back."

James grimaced.

"My thoughts exactly," Mary said. "She's usually a treat to get along with. You must've done something bloody awful to get her riled up like this."

"He says he hasn't done anything, but who knows?" Sirius said.

James punched Sirius in the arm. "I have not!"

"How about I tell her you have to stay because we've got a date and if you don't stay you're calling it off?" Mary said.

"Er," said James.

She laughed. "Don't worry, I can tell you've got eyes for someone else. It's only a ruse."

"I've got eyes for no one!"

"He's lying," Sirius told Mary.

"Am not," James said.

"They never see it for themselves," Mary told Sirius.

James gripped his tankard. "I'm right here, you know."

"She probably won't throw you out," Mary said. "Mr. Evans had very clear views on these things and she doesn't want to lose that reputation."

Just then Lily came hurrying out from the back with a small jar in her hand.

"Oh, thank you, dear," said the woman. "I've only got half right now but John gets paid tomorrow and—"

"I know, it's fine." Lily reached over the bar, her arm brushing against James' shoulder, and handed the woman the jar in exchange for a few coins.

"I didn't know this was an apothecary, too," James said.

"You don't seem to know very much, do you?" Lily commented as she pulled her arm back in, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"Thank you. You're such a dear." The woman nodded once, almost reverently, and sped toward the door.

"You're not being a dear to me," James said.

Lily froze. "The soup! Oh, Mary, I'll be right back. Take a stroll around the room, won't you? And you two—" she shot James and Sirius a pointed look, "—should make yourselves scarce."

While Lily and Mary sped around the pub serving drinks and talking to patrons, James struck up a conversation with the merchant couple next to him about the brickmaking business. Not that James knew anything about it, but he could pretend well enough, and he did learn something along the way. The conversation also had the added benefit of driving Lily away – she might be less than friendly to James on his own, but clearly she didn't want others to bear witness.

He wished he knew why it bothered him so much that she didn't like him. Plenty of people in Gryffindor had their complaints about the monarchy—more than James liked to admit—but he couldn't understand why she found him so personally offensive.

As the night wore on, James found himself losing people to use as shields against Lily. Sirius had ignored the merchant couple, opting instead to chat with his apparent new best friend Mary.

When only a few patrons remained, and Sirius had stepped outside to relieve himself, Mary dropped down onto the stool next to James.

"I hope you got what you came here for," she said. "Sirius thinks you did."

"Does he," James said, annoyed.

"He said you can juggle, too."

"Do I look like I can juggle?"

"I've never tried to judge someone's juggling ability on sight alone before and I don't intend to start now."

"And I commend you for that," said James. "Very important, not judging people right away."

"Completely agree," said Mary. "But I need to know, what _exactly_ did you do to Lily? I hope nothing too serious or I'll feel awful about defending your honor all night."

"Nothing! Honestly. I mean, yes, in hindsight maybe lurking in the shadows in an alley wasn't the best way to meet a girl—"

"What were you doing lurking in the shadows in an alley?" Sirius asked.

James closed his eyes. Of course Sirius was back in time for this.

"He didn't tell me that part," Sirius told Mary.

"I'm still right here," James said. "Right here. Two feet from you, in fact. Would you like me to measure?"

"Of course she doesn't like you if you dropped in on her like a bat in an alley," said Mary.

"That's not what she's mad about," James insisted. "I promise."

"What were you doing in the alley?"

"It's, er, complicated."

"He likes to rummage through the rubbish," said Sirius. "It's a real problem and we've been working on it."

"Sirius is the one who can't be bothered to come around here much because he hates the way the snow feels under his boots."

"It's not solid ground! It's not normal."

Mary climbed back to her feet. "Please tell me you two are coming back tomorrow."

"If we can," Sirius said.

"Perhaps," said James.

"Are we off, then?" Sirius asked, throwing on his cloak.

"Indeed. Have you paid the young lady?"

"I'm not a scoundrel and I resent the implication."

"I was only asking."

Mary shook her head. "Well, get to wherever you're going tonight safely."

"We shall endeavor to meet your request," James said. He kept forgetting not to leave his mother's hat at home so he could tip his brim at ladies.

"Will Lily be there to lock the door behind us?" Sirius asked.

"Yes," said a newly familiar voice.

James spun around to see Lily, who had entirely too much energy for this time of night.

"Well, thank you for a most amenable evening," he said, giving her his most winsome smile. "We had a lovely time and will be sure to patron your establishment again."

"Be still my heart," she said flatly.

James surprised himself by laughing. "Until tomorrow."

She did follow them to the door and shut it with relish behind them.

Sirius grinned. "That was exceptionally entertaining. We should bring Moony and Wormtail."

"Oh, I agree," said James. "I definitely agree."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"What did you and Mary talk about all night?" James asked. He watched from his bed as Sirius organized his personal library in the middle of the room.

"Oh, this and that," Sirius said absently, picking up a book from one of the many piles around him.

"Padfoot."

Sirius made a show of rolling his eyes and rattled off, with clear disinterest, "Mary says Lily's mother is from the south and they lived there until they inherited the pub from Lily's uncle. They only took over about five years ago."

"Then why haven't we seen Lily before?"

"She only took up working in the front of the pub once her father died." Sirius frowned at a book and moved it to a different pile. "Mr. Evans didn't like her working out front. Apparently she's still got a bitch of a sister in town, a newly married one who doesn't think she should deign to sully her hands."

James nodded to himself. "So Lily really does run the pub by herself."

"So says Mary."

"Quite the feat."

"Indeed." Sirius dusted off a cover with his sleeve and squinted at the faded title. "And you've certainly got her attention."

"Did you hear her flirting with me last night?" James said with a lazy smile. "It was embarrassing, that much positive attention. She needs to tone it down a little or I'll lose interest."

Sirius looked up from his book and grinned. "I don't know what you did to her, but it was worth it for my purposes, anyway, so thanks."

"What about you and Mary?" James said, keeping his voice deliberately nonchalant. "You two seemed to be getting on alright."

Sirius let out a sharp bark of laughter and picked up another book. "Only my subtle interrogation tactics at work, I assure you, Prongs. My one and only love is literature."

"A likely story."

"It was an interrogation on your behalf, I might add."

"An interrogation, you say. An interrogation to what end?"

"Well," Sirius said, sliding a pile aside, "if Lily knows you're the prince, she could try to leverage that."

James scowled. "Obviously all she's interested in is never seeing my face again."

"All the more reason to be concerned, if she's a vendetta against you."

"Fair point." James glanced at his pocket watch. "Shit, I've got to run. Meet me by the humpback witch tonight?"

Sirius saluted him with his book. "I'll invite Wormtail."

"Good man."

James rushed down the stairs to his father's study on the third floor, his footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridors. Most of the household staff was still occupied with post-lunch activities, and the portraits in the main parts of the castle weren't magical. Even at the best of times, the stillness and quiet of Hogwarts could be unnerving.

He knocked on his father's door twice and entered without waiting for a response.

Sunlight flooded in from an expansive window overlooking the forest, catching on the motes of dust floating above the waist-high stacks of books that peppered the floor. George sat behind a bulky oak desk wearing a dour expression, his thin grey hair already flying loose from where he'd tried to tame it down.

James prepared himself for terrible news, but then he grinned when he noticed Dumbledore sitting across from his father, wearing a worn purple cloak.

"You're here!" said James. "I thought you wouldn't arrive for another week."

"Given certain events at the border post not fifty miles from us," Dumbledore said with a rueful smile, "I thought it best not to tarry."

James sank into the uncomfortable wooden chair next to Dumbledore. "What's happened now?"

George sighed in a long-suffering sort of way. "More spies. Slytherin is terribly old-fashioned, isn't it?"

"Did we find out anything new from them?"

"Would that they were alive to speak," said Dumbledore. "The pair succeeded in miraculously committing suicide in separate locked rooms with no apparent weapons."

"Magic, then," said James darkly. He realized they probably knew this and that he wasn't adding anything new to the conversation, as usual.

"We suspect as much. Prior to locking the doors, the ranking official at the post searched them for potential Portkeys and exchanged their clothing for Gryffindor-made items."

"The previous spies haven't died, though, have they?" James said. His father hadn't mentioned the other spies in nearly a month, but James assumed they could have killed themselves after the guards' failed interrogation efforts.

"No," Dumbledore said. "But whether that has been by choice or by lack of weaponry, I could not say."

"And you haven't managed to get them to answer your questions yet either," James said, a knot forming in his stomach. "So we really have no idea what they want."

"Alas, their purpose eludes us. The castle guards have yet to discover more than their origin."

James' hands had clenched onto the armrests, and he loosened them. It seemed impossible that none of their truth potions worked on the Slytherins.

Dumbledore looked back to George. "We might yet receive word from our contacts across the border. However, I suspect their utility will soon diminish. I've reason to believe the young Slytherin king has chosen a group of closer allies, those whom he trusts above all others, and has tasked them with some agenda. What that might entail, I could not say."

"They still haven't sent anything more than spies, though, right?" James said. "Two more makes it, what, five?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Five that we have discovered. These two have a marking inked into their forearms, a black skull with a snake emerging from the mouth. I believe this identifies them as individuals trusted by King Voldemort."

"What does Slughorn say about it?"

"He has been called back to Slytherin," George explained. "He said he has family matters to attend to."

"And while this may be the truth, I retain my doubts," Dumbledore said. "We have not yet received word that we will receive another envoy from Slytherin."

James wished he knew why his father had asked him into this meeting. James had nothing to offer besides stupid questions, and learning about this bizarre threat made him restless. They didn't know what Slytherin wanted, and they didn't know how Slytherin was cloaking its intentions, but clearly there was something Voldemort wanted from—or wanted to do in—Gryffindor.

George looked at James expectantly, and James scrambled to think of something to say.

"We can't just let him keep sending in spies," James said. "We need more information about what those spies were doing and about this marked group he's got."

"I agree with your son, George," Dumbledore said.

George steepled his fingers under his chin. "I require time to deliberate. We will discuss the matter in a week."

James frowned. "A week? By then he could have done whatever it is he's trying to do."

"This matter requires delicacy. We cannot act until we are sure we will not alienate Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

Dumbledore climbed to his feet, still dexterous in his old age. "Very well. I await your instruction."

James fought to keep his mouth shut and followed Dumbledore out of his father's study.

"Another week living out of the library from him, then," James said bitterly after the door shut behind them.

"Appropriate caution and rational thought are two crucial traits in any king," Dumbledore said.

"Is that a critique meant for me or my father?"

Dumbledore gave him a thin smile. "And why shouldn't it be both?"

"Touché."

"Castle gossip informs me that you've been secluded on the castle grounds without your wand."

"There's been a not-so-subtle effort to persuade me into marrying within the next year."

"I can't imagine why that should render you wandless."

James ran his hand through his hair. "It might if a certain prince accidentally-but-a-little bit-on -purpose filled a certain Hufflepuff girl's room with mud that couldn't be spelled away."

"Ah. Yes, that would suffice."

"Yeah," James sighed. He didn't regret doing it, though. She'd been exceptionally clingy and hadn't seemed to understand James' insistence that he wasn't interested.

"I take it Ms. Marks is no longer enjoying your family's hospitality."

James' mouth curved into a grin. "Her mother said they had business to attend to back in Newcastle."

"Naturally. One cannot underestimate the importance of sound investments," Dumbledore said. "How unfortunate that you forfeited your wand in the process of helping them come to this realization."

James had always liked Dumbledore. Dumbledore intimidated him more than even George did, in terms of sheer intelligence, but he never made James feel poorly about himself.

"Of course, I miss my wand," James said, "my magic lessons are a complete bore now, but they went lower, Dumbledore. They took my _cat_."

Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic look. "A man and his familiar are dearly parted."

James had hoped that Dumbledore would side with him, and he was grateful for an ally. Maybe Dumbledore could help persuade Odette to give back Algernon.

"Mother won't give him back until I show her I learned my lesson," James said. "But Merlin knows how I do that."

"I'm sure she's taking excellent care of Algernon in your absence."

James raised his eyebrows.

"At least, as well as she knows how," Dumbledore conceded.

* * *

"I've been thinking," James said as he walked up to the humpback witch that evening.

Sirius was leaning against the castle wall, one leg propped up with his foot flat against the wall and his hands shoved into his cloak pockets, looking interminably cool.

"Careful," Sirius said.

James tried to mimic Sirius' position but felt completely off-balance leaning on one foot, and he nearly fell over. "I'm not the one who's had his mind addled by traitorous French books."

Sirius shot him an annoyed look. "They're not even remotely close to being traitorous. Have you any idea what they're about?"

"How should I know? I don't know French."

"I'll pretend that's true for the moment so we can get to your point."

"My point is," James said, retying his cloak strings, "I think I need to make Lily hate me less."

He'd been considering the matter since Sirius had mentioned his interrogation, and it only made sense, really. If he wanted to go anywhere in the village, he couldn't have the potential for disaster lying around, ready to go off at any moment.

"And what convoluted reasoning have you come up with for this?" Sirius said.

"If she hates me, and if she knows who I am, I won't feel safe in the village."

"About what I expected. My fault, really."

James didn't follow, but he ignored Sirius all the same. "I mean, I am the future king. I need to keep these things in mind."

"Of course," Sirius said graciously.

James rolled his eyes at Sirius' mocking tone and looked at his pocket watch. "Where's Wormtail?"

"I told him half eleven." Sirius grimaced. "He wanted to bring his paramour, if you can believe it."

"I can, actually, but I hope she doesn't come all the same."

"Agreed."

Just then, Peter came hurrying around the corner dressed in the finest cloak he owned.

James sighed and gave Sirius a pointed look. "Fix it, won't you, oh wanded companion of mine?"

"My thoughts exactly."

Peter was nearly out of breath when he reached them. "Sorry. My parents wouldn't leave my chambers."

Sirius gave his wand an elegant wave and Transfigured Peter's cloak into a less ostentatious material.

"I liked this cloak," Peter lamented. "Helena gave it to me."

"Subterfuge has never been his strong suit," Sirius told James.

"We'll change it back later," James said. "Come on."

* * *

When they entered the pub that night, Lily spotted them immediately from her perch behind the far end of the bar. She pointed her finger at the door, but they ignored her and headed for one of the worn oak tables nearby, where an affable Mary greeted Sirius with a hug.

"My new favorite patrons," she said.

Sirius introduced Peter to Mary while James kept his eyes fixed on Lily. She had turned to talk to a very handsome young man with neat brown hair and broad shoulders.

James' eyes narrowed when the man stepped behind the bar and into the back.

"Who's that?" James asked.

"Er, who?" Mary said.

"The man who just went into the back."

Mary's mouth made an 'o' of comprehension. "Sirius, Peter," she said, "James has just met his competition."

Sirius craned his neck to try to see through the doorway. "The plot thickens."

"Is this about James fancying that girl?" Peter asked.

James stared at Peter. "How do you even know about that?" He made what he thought was a safe assumption and glared at Sirius. "It doesn't matter because there is no fancying and no competition. I am here purely for, er, strategic reasons."

Mary looked confused. "You're consuming alcoholic beverages for 'strategic purposes?'"

"I'm, er," James floundered, "training. For a competition."

"He already had a few before we came," Sirius lied. "Best bring him some water for now, eh?"

"Right," Mary said. "Water for him, something stronger for you two?"

"Precisely," Sirius said.

"What are we getting?" Peter said.

"But who is he?" James said, before anyone could reply to Peter.

"It's only Evan," Mary said. "Last night was his night off. Mine's tomorrow so don't come, yeah? I don't want to miss anything."

James huffed. "There's nothing to miss besides my training."

Sirius opened his mouth, frowned, and then continued, "Our drinks, Mary? And send over Evan. James wants to meet him."

"Do no such thing!" James said. "By order of—me. Nobody me."

Mary narrowed her eyes at him. "I think you'll be getting water all night. You know, you'll never woo her if you're pissed all the time."

"There is no wooing occurring. Zero wooing. If anything, this is an anti-wooing effort. I am starting a campaign. There will be buttons."

Mary turned to Sirius. "Sober him up, won't you?"

James folded his arms and watched Lily as she strode over to their table.

"Mary, need I remind you we have other patrons?" she said tightly.

Mary grinned. "No need at all. I've just taken their drink orders, is all. I'm going to have Evan bring them out, so no worries on that front."

Mary wandered off, and Lily stood there, a hand propped on her hip, apparently waiting for them to leave.

James took a deep breath, stood up, and leaned in toward Lily. "Can we talk, for a moment? In private?"

She took a step back, but kept her voice hushed enough that no one would be tempted to eavesdrop. "How many drinks did you have before coming here to make you think I'd agree to that?"

"None, actually." He ignored her skeptical look. "I promise. I want to apologize in private, if that's not too much to ask of you. If you don't like what I say, then I'll leave. Your highness."

He didn't normally pull rank on people, and couldn't even remember the last time he had, but he hoped she would read it as a signal that he really did want privacy, and not as him bossing her around.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

He followed Lily behind the bar, where she grabbed a lit candle stuck in an iron holder, and stepped through the doorway. The short corridor on the other side diverged into three paths: the kitchen, a corridor James presumed led to a staircase to the inn above, and a closed door. She unlocked the closed door and marched inside, the candle flame sputtering in front of her.

While she lit a couple more candles around the room, James stepped inside and admired how tidy she kept her office. Where his parents preferred organized chaos, with books and papers strewn everywhere, Lily's orderly but only half-full bookshelves were dust-free, and her desk housed only a blotter and blank writing supplies.

He pulled his attention back to her and tried to decide what to do with his hands. He settled for letting them drop awkwardly at his sides.

Candles lit, she stood in front of the desk and faced him. "Make it quick. I do have a business to run."

"Right," he began, "whatever it is you think I'm responsible for, I'm sorry, all right? I don't exactly have the easiest job in the world."

"Oh, yes, I understand life at the top is exceptionally trying. Of all the people coming into my pub, the wealthiest certainly have the most to complain about."

He didn't know how to respond to her sarcasm without defeating the purpose of apologizing.

"Do you accept my apology or not?" he said.

"No," she said simply. "Because you're not apologizing to the right person."

"To be honest, I don't even know what I'm apologizing for. I just know you think I've done something wrong and I want you to stop hating me for it."

Her eyebrows drew together and she looked at him strangely. "You don't know, do you? How sad. You're so busy lounging about doing nothing that you can't even keep track of the terrible things you do anymore."

James tried to keep his mouth from dropping open. "If I'm doing nothing, how can I be doing terrible things?"

"Doing nothing can be a terrible thing, although I didn't say you had to be accomplishing the two simultaneously."

"I should think you'd prefer me to do nothing than to do actively terrible things."

"I should think your stance of not doing much about the problems in our country would be reason enough for me to dislike you."

This conversation was not heading in the direction James had thought it would.

"Problems like what?" he asked.

"Well, for one thing, the border is so barely protected that I've accidentally wandered across it without even knowing it."

He frowned. "What were you doing out in the forest?"

"Gathering herbs and plants," she said, as though it should have been obvious. "I bother to pay my staff decent wages, and with the amount of taxes I pay, I have to supplement my income with what you so condescendingly called my apothecary."

"And why does the blame for this problem fall squarely on my head? We're not Hufflepuff. My word means nothing at the moment."

"Maybe we should become more like Hufflepuff." She lifted her chin. "I for one would love the opportunity to vote for our leaders."

"For what it's worth, I don't disagree with you. I think it's pretty bloody stupid that our leaders get picked by circumstance rather than merit."

"Of course you'd say that to someone like me."

"Believe me," he said, his voice low, "I literally could not agree with you any more than I currently do. I think monarchies are outdated."

She raised an eyebrow. "Look who's trying to get me to like him."

"That's not—I just want to be able to come into the pub like I used to, alright?" He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I miss your father. He never treated me differently because of my circumstances, fortunate as they may be."

She cocked her head and eyed him for a minute.

"And for the record," James added, "if you think I haven't tried to fix some of the things that are wrong in Gryffindor, you're dead wrong. I've tried, all right? But I can't do it on my own."

He wished he had any sense of what she was thinking. She'd kept him off-balance every time they'd spoken, and he didn't care for it.

Mostly.

"You can stay," she finally said.

He blinked. "I can?"

"You can come round the pub when you like so long as you don't ever speak poorly to any of my patrons. And I mean _any_."

"And what if they attack me?"

"Then you will stand down and leave because you're antagonizing enough to not realize when you're doing it."

"_I'm _antagonizing? _I'm_—you're the one who jumped down my throat the minute we met when I made a harmless comment."

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding anything but, "did you want something else from me? I said you could stay."

While he could see where she thought this to be the full truth, she'd been spot on earlier. He did want her to like him. Despite his parents' occasional mismanagement of the country, they weren't broadly hated, and he'd never been so thoroughly, instantly disliked because of his title before.

"Fine," he said. "Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Ms. Evans. You've certainly managed to maintain the air of acceptance your father established."

He regretted the comment as soon as it left his mouth. She tried to hide the way her mouth tightened, but her sudden swallow betrayed her.

But then he didn't regret it because he was right, even if he'd put it a bit more cruelly than he would've to someone else.

"Yes, well, he didn't see you like I do," she said, brushing past him on her hurried walk out into the corridor.

He turned in place to watch her stand by the door, looking at him expectantly.

"Well, come on, then," she said. "Mary probably thinks I've killed you by now."

"That woman," James said. "From last night, with the burn paste."

"What of it?"

"Has she paid you back yet?"

She propped one hand on her hip. "What matter is it to you?"

James resisted the urge to grit his teeth, and instead strode over to her, reaching into his pocket on the way, and held out some coins.

"Take it," he said. "For her."

"One little gesture isn't going to make me think better of you."

"You seem to be under the misunderstanding that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, but I can't. I don't hold the key to the royal vaults—" never mind that they were locked by spells – she didn't need to know that and wouldn't believe him anyway, "—so this is my personal pocket money. I can't do anything about anything, but even if I could, I _don't know_ what to do about all the problems in the kingdom. So let me fix at least one thing."

She held his gaze for a long moment.

"Please," he said.

"Fine." She picked two small coins out of his hand, her fingertips brushing against his palm, and pocketed them.

"Don't tell her it was me, though," he added. "If you don't mind."

"I assure you, I don't."

He didn't know what else to say, so he nodded and headed back into the pub.

* * *

"You missed Evan McNamee," Sirius said as James slid into his seat.

James made a vague noise and wrapped both his hands around the tankard of water left for him on the table.

His friends shared a look but James pretended he didn't see it.

"She didn't actually hurt you…did she?" Sirius asked.

"No."

They shared another look.

"Well? Tell us what happened," Peter said, leaning forward in his seat.

James tapped his thumbs on the tankard and stared at the table. He didn't know how to sum up the bizarre encounter he'd just had. He'd talked to her like he'd talk to anyone else, but at certain points in the conversation he'd felt like they were talking about entirely different things.

Suddenly he lifted his head up and grinned. "Why, I charmed her into letting us stay, naturally."

"You liar." Sirius mirrored his grin. "You did not."

"On the contrary, she said I'm allowed to come and go as I please."

"I thought you said she hated him," Peter said to Sirius.

"Oh, she still reviles my very existence," James assured them, "but my charms, they are numerous."

He smiled at Mary when she stopped by their table.

"You're alive!" she said.

"And we get to stay," Peter said.

"Fantastic. Do you want something besides water, James? I'm coming to realize you aren't nearly as inebriated as your liar of a friend suggested."

"No, thanks, I'm fine."

He really wasn't in the mood for a drink. What he really wanted was to wander back to the castle and replay the conversation he'd had with Lily in his head a few times, and drinking would probably dilute the memory.

Mary ran off to do her job, and James let Sirius and Peter carry the conversation for the rest of the evening. Evan McNamee did come over at one point with a drink for Sirius. His deep baritone voice made James scowl in jealousy. Not because he was upset Lily might fancy McNamee, but because James had always wanted a voice with more gravitas.

He ignored Sirius' barbs about McNamee and spent much of the evening watching Lily do her job. She was quick, and people liked her, and she seemed genuinely nice to everyone but James.

James noted that she didn't look at him once, not even a glance, for the rest of the night.

This annoyed him, of course, but he didn't quite know why.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Most days James tried to avoid his family responsibilities, but lately his father had specifically requested his presence at an increasing number of meetings and hearings.

He spent the morning in the Great Hall listening to a man plead that he hadn't meant to kill his wife, that it had been an accident. James dreaded serving as judge more than any other responsibility. The court scribe furiously jotted down notes at the far end of the high table, leaving George to pay rapt attention to the testimony of the guard who'd discovered the crime.

No one except perhaps the accused man was surprised when George requested several days to ponder the issue. As James and his father left the chamber, George requested James' opinion before making a final decision—a written opinion, which James loathed.

James camped out in his study all afternoon under the pretense of writing it, but to make a bad day even worse, James' valet Terry had returned from the pointless mission James had sent him on.

"Your Royal Highness—"

"We discussed this, Terry," James said, pointedly not looking up from the book he'd grabbed to look busy.

Terry wrung his hands together. "_Sir_, I obtained the shoes you requested from Newcastle."

"Lovely. Leave them in my chambers. I don't require your services at the moment."

"But, sir, might I fetch you a cup of tea? Some biscuits? Another book?"

James had rather hoped Terry would get lost on the carriage ride back to Hogwarts, and he could go back to having his cat fetch his snacks. But Terry had hitched a ride on Dumbledore's Portkey, and his mother still had Algernon, and James wanted to punch Terry in his stupid pointy face.

George had hired Terry when James had refused to pick a valet. James had hoped if he didn't choose one he wouldn't have to have a one at all. Sirius got along fine without a valet, and George hadn't forced one on him, but George had chosen Terry for him instead.

Terry came back to James' study several times during the afternoon to bother James, and James finally had to lock the door and pretend not to hear Terry pounding on it. He'd thought Terry might use magic to unlock it, but thankfully Terry left him alone after that.

James had considered avoiding The Three Broomsticks that night because Sirius had promised Mary they wouldn't go, but he didn't want Lily to think he'd rejected her olive branch. Except it was really more of an olive twig. Olive seed, really. If olives had seeds—James didn't know.

Sirius wouldn't go, and Peter had plans with his parents that night. James had nearly made up his mind not to go at all when his mother asked Terry to bring James to meet her in the library. James feigned a headache and convinced a very distraught Terry that he simply wasn't up to talking to anyone. He knew what his mother wanted to discuss and he wasn't interested.

He really had no choice but to go to Hogsmeade. If he stayed, she'd come to him.

As soon as Terry left to deliver the message, James grabbed his cloak and sped down to the fourth floor, slowing to a normal pace when he passed the handful of castle staff milling about. He preferred the humpback witch passage but the one behind the mirror only required a password.

He scrabbled through the unlit passage, only tripping a few times, and emerged into the dark, stuffy rooms of the post office. He ducked out through the only entrance onto the snowy high street, glad he'd swiped Sirius' penknife for his return. He'd forgot once and had to call Sirius through the mirror to come get him.

A few snowflakes drifted down over the villagers as they darted between shops. James had arrived earlier than he usually did, in time to catch the evening rush, and he savored the anonymity on his stroll down to The Three Broomsticks. Admittedly he stood out for the quality of his clothing, but there were nobles in Hogsmeade, both permanent and those visiting for business, and he could blend in.

He paused outside the pub window and reached up with one hand to ruffle out the snowflakes clinging to his hair.

He could see Lily inside, her red hair piled messily on top of her head, handing someone a drink. He debated going back—there would be no Mary or Sirius to act as a buffer, after all—but he was a Gryffindor through and through, and not just because he was the prince.

He pushed the door open and stomped the snow off his boots, grateful for the defogging charm on his glasses. McNamee waved at James from behind the bar, and James decided even McNamee would be better company than no one.

"Can I get you something?" McNamee asked, in his devastating voice.

James brushed the snow off his shoulders. "Whatever that ale is that Mary's brother makes, please."

McNamee was too busy to talk to James properly that night, leaving James to strike up a conversation with the merchant sitting next to him at the bar, a rusty-haired bloke who ran the haberdashery.

"It's a change of pace with Lily running the pub," James said.

"John's death took us all by surprise," said the man, placing a wrinkly hand over his chest.

"I wasn't here for the funeral but I expect it was nice enough."

"The whole village turned out, they did. He grew up here, you know. Moved away to marry some well-to-do woman down in Manchester, worked for the printing business for a while."

"And he came back to manage the pub?"

"Aye. John lost his brother and his wife within a year of each other." The man raised his glass in a silent toast. "But there's nothing to heal a heart like a change of scenery."

"I suppose. I'm James, by the way."

"Benjy Fenwick," said the man, shaking James' hand enthusiastically. "You know, we don't get too many poncy looking blokes like you in here."

"No, I don't suppose you do."

"Posh accent, too."

James nodded. "My family lives in Newcastle, only my father is thinking of getting into logging. We're only around for a few months."

"Oh, you need to talk to the Meadowes if you're thinking of taking up logging."

"I'm not sure who my father's speaking to," James said without missing a beat. "I'm rather removed from all of it."

"'Course you are, young thing like yourself." Benjy gave James a light punch on the shoulder and winked. "I'll bet you're in search of a good wife."

"Unfortunately."

"Don't take such a poor attitude toward it. A good woman can make all the difference in your life."

"Er, thanks. I'll take that under consideration."

James listened to Benjy go on about trends in ruffs and collars until Benjy finally headed home to dinner, inviting James to come by with some night to try his wife's impeccable stew.

Many of the patrons left around the same time as Benjy, leaving James at a mostly empty bar. McNamee disappeared into the back just as Lily came out with a rag. She started wiping down the part of the bar nearest the doorway to the back, and James watched her from the opposite end. He gave her points for thoroughness, particularly since she looked a bit worn around the edges. Several wisps of hair had fallen out of her bun and she kept reaching up to tuck them back behind her ears.

"Evening," she said when she reached him.

He lifted up his tankard so she could dab up a bit of spilled ale underneath it, and she nodded in thanks.

She turned away from him to begin wiping the counter that ran along the wall, running her rag around stacks of empty tankards. After a minute she paused in her task and rested both palms on the ledge, her back still to James.

"I accept your apology," she said stiffly.

"Not really," he said, before he knew he was going to say it.

She ducked her head and slowly turned back to face him. She avoided looking at him, instead folding the rag into a neat square.

"I might have been…unfair."

"I'll say."

She gave him a look that he interpreted as, 'Don't push your luck.' At least she was looking at him.

"Obviously you can't fix everything," she said. "I know that."

"Thank you."

"You shouldn't flirt with girls alone in dark alleys."

He pushed a hand through his hair. "Trust me, I learned that lesson."

The corners of her mouth quirked. "I did mean what I said. That you're welcome here, that is. I haven't seen you be cruel to anyone."

"No," James said, furrowing his brow. "I haven't."

She let her hands drop to her sides, the damp rag leaving a slight trail of water along her dress. "The other patrons seem to like you well enough. God knows Mary does."

"I'm really not a terrible person. Not anymore, anyway."

They fell silent for a moment, and James took another sip of ale.

"Would you mind telling Mary," he said, "that Sirius might flirt well and all, but he's not really into follow-through?"

Her mouth curved into a small smile, and she seemed surprised when she realized as much. "Don't worry about her. She knows how to handle herself."

"I'm glad to hear it."

She held up the rag in front of her. "I need to get back to work."

"Right. Of course."

She went back to wiping up spills, and James went back to his thoughts.

She avoided him for the rest of the night, but James felt in higher spirits anyway.

* * *

And so James adopted a routine that involved days of pretending he knew how to be a prince, and nights at the pub pretending he wasn't one. Sometimes Sirius or Peter accompanied him to the pub, and sometimes he went alone. He liked those nights best because Lily would actually come talk to him sometimes. Not for long, and never about anything important, but she would offer him a hello and a drink. It wasn't the welcoming atmosphere her father had cultivated for James, not by any means, but it was something.

He needed his nights at the pub to make up for hours of lessons and meetings and hearings in which he felt completely clueless sometimes, but tried not to let that show. His brain just didn't seem to be built for governance, or the minutiae of military strategy, or tax structures.

One morning several days after the murder hearing, George called James into the Great Hall for a meeting with his top advisers to discuss plans for the newly begun year. James nearly dozed off during Sprout's summary of the state of agriculture, and his father sent a subtle Stinging Hex at James under the table.

James shook himself awake, and after the meeting George pointed an imperious finger at him, drawing him to his study.

"You can't fall asleep in these meetings, James."

"I apologize for finding crop predictions soporific."

"I know you're having a difficult time at the moment," George said, "but you must behave yourself during these meetings. Do you suppose they will respect you as a leader if you can't be bothered to pay attention to what they have to say? Do you suppose they'll have any interest in helping you run Gryffindor if they can't trust you?"

"Well, you're not dead yet."

Truly, James felt a sting of shame at how he'd acted in front of the other advisers. He knew he'd been childish in the meeting, and now with his father, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He was exhausted from staying out too late at the pub the night before, but couldn't spell himself awake as he normally would, and he couldn't force himself to genuinely care about crop yields.

"What are you going to do when you've taken the throne?" George asked. "Wallow in your room all day?"

"No," James muttered.

"You need to have plans and ambitions for the direction of our country. You need those advisers."

James realized he'd clenched his fists at some point, and pried them open into some semblance of a normal grip.

Admittedly James was in the wrong here, yes, but how easy it would have been to turn this conversation around on his father and his hypocrisy. Berate him for all the foolish things he'd ever done, demand to know how many weeks it would take for George to tell Sprout about his decision on a crucial land deal, mock him for owning such a ridiculously oversized castle like Hogwarts.

But that would run too close to the petulant child he'd been, and he didn't need his father imparting any more lessons on him.

Once was enough.

"Yes, Father," he ground out. "I should have paid better attention but I wasn't able to sleep last night."

"Ask Heaney to provide you with a Sleeping Potion if needed. Now, come, I'm starving."

He strode out of the study toward the Great Hall, and James followed at his heels, feeling a bit too much like a kicked puppy dragged on his leash.

* * *

Lunch was the usual affair, except Sirius was entirely too focused on catching up with James' mother.

"No, it's a dead powerful book," Sirius was saying.

"Really?" Odette dabbed her napkin around the edges of her small mouth. "I found it rather…lacking."

"I think you made the mistake of only seeing it through the eyes of the main character. What you really have to do is—"

"I can guess what you're going to say, and I have to tell you, the time I was in Paris and the princess walked in on me saddling up a horse in my bedroom—"

James tuned out of their conversation and looked across the table to Peter, who was caught up with Helena Hodge. She wore her mousy brown hair in a mockery of Odette's style, and her neckline was low, even for the styles he'd heard about from Benjy Fenwick.

This left James with no one to talk to but his father, and James had nothing to say to him.

Annoyed with both of his mates, and knowing it was stupid to be so irritated, James brushed them off after lunch and made for the fourth floor corridor, his mind whirling.

His father's words from the morning wouldn't leave James alone. He needed to talk to someone about his father, but Sirius would be bored of hearing it for the hundredth time, and Peter would give him advice he didn't really want because there was no easy answer. He just wanted to complain, really, which he couldn't tell people because it sounded awful. Still, he knew what he needed. Remus would have been an excellent confidant, but he hadn't arrived at the castle yet and wouldn't for another few days.

Which left James with his parents, Terry, or Dumbledore, none of which sounded particularly appealing.

So he escaped into Hogsmeade, as he seemed to be doing more than in any previous year. He'd miss a hearing but he didn't much care.

He strolled down to the river and allowed the spinning of the sawmill wheel to hypnotize him. Teams of oxen drew felled trees from the forest to the mill, aided by a crew of rowdy loggers.

Observing the people of his land hard at work was a pleasant enough diversion, except James kept picking out random loggers and wondering if they were Slytherin spies. They probably weren't, but he couldn't be sure anymore.

As the sun began to set in the late afternoon, casting long shadows over the thatched homes of the village, the loggers retired their animals for the evening and headed home, and James let his feet lead him to where he'd wanted to go all along.

He pushed open the heavy door to the pub and basked in the heat of the pub. Mary and Lily were both flitting around the pub carrying plates, and McNamee stood tending bar. James allowed himself a small smile and headed for an empty stool near McNamee.

He passed the evening rush talking to whichever stranger happened to sit next to him. That night it was an elderly gentleman who had absurd theories about the origins of Godric Gryffindor (James had seen books disproving them but couldn't mention as much), and a young soldier on leave from the border.

The pub patrons disappeared as the night wore on, back to their own lives, and James was eventually left alone at the bar.

Near the time Peter typically made them go back to the castle, Lily dropped a pile of utensils on the bar next to James. She gave him a tight smile and started organizing and inspecting the forks.

"Why haven't you changed the name from The Three Broomsticks?" he asked.

Some evenings Lily seemed despondent after the crowd thinned, but tonight she moved with a calm grace, apparently content to spend her time straightening up without constant interruption.

"Why should I?" she said, stacking her forks next to James on an abandoned stretch of the bar. "It's always been called that, as far as I know."

"It's a bit nonsensical, and you don't strike me as the fanciful type."

She paused in her task and cocked her head. "I suppose it made sense to someone at some point."

"Who owned the pub before your father?"

"His older brother, but all I know beyond that is that my uncle didn't inherit it."

James, naturally, suspected magical origins in the title. He supposed a bored viscount living at Hogwarts might have seen fit to start a business nearby, dangling his true heritage in front of the unknowing masses.

Speaking of boring nobles.

"Can I tell you something," he said hesitantly, "in confidence?"

Her mouth parted, and then she frowned.

"You are behind the bar," he said, keeping his tone light, "and my understanding was that barkeeps were the confidantes of all."

"I don't disagree, I'm simply…surprised."

He tapped his thumb on the handle of his tankard. "I didn't know where else to go."

It was hard, asking this of someone who had been so casually unkind to him, but he needed to tell _someone_, someone who knew who he was but was removed enough from his life that it wouldn't matter what he said.

"So long as I can keep sorting, I suppose so," she said.

"Yes, please, continue. I'll simply speak and you can listen and nod when it seems appropriate. Also, since I already have some sense of your opinions on the matter, feel free to chime in as you please."

She stared at him. "Right."

He leaned over the bar toward her and whispered, "I've had it up to here with my father."

"I'm…sorry?"

James sat back in his chair and checked that no one near them was close enough to overhear.

"He is the most indecisive man I've ever met and it's driving me _mad_."

She kept sorting the forks from the knives, checking for spots, but she looked like she was trying not to smile.

"What?" he demanded.

She put down the fork she'd been holding. "_That's_ the big secret you needed to tell someone?"

"That is a perfectly legitimate secret."

"I'm not convinced that anyone having issues with their father qualifies as a secret. It seems to be an inherent fact of life."

"Well, my situation is—unique. There was this man—well, I don't think I'm allowed to talk about him, but _my father_. It's like, for most of his life things were fine, so he didn't have to try, you know? And now he's old and it's like he can't be bothered to put in more than the bare minimum of effort."

Lily gave a huge, obnoxious nod.

"You may be overplaying that," he said. "Me, I'd go for the subtle nod, or one deep one."

She laughed.

He smiled.

"But really," he said. "I'm…I don't know what to do."

"My mother was like that, too," Lily said. "Her indecision used to drive me and my father mad. But that's just who they are. You can't change that."

"I know." James hunched over to rest his forearms on the bar. "Only I feel awful for everyone waiting on his decisions."

She gave James a plaintive look. "Your father does make decisions. Life is nothing but a series of decisions, both little and big, and everyone ends up making a decision eventually. Even if it's one of inaction."

"It's the inaction option that terrifies me," James said darkly.

"I can listen well enough, but sadly my advice on how to change people runs thin."

"I appreciate the effort all the same."

As he'd suspected, simply complaining and hearing that there was little he could do buoyed him against the tide of self-doubt that had been plaguing him lately. He may not know what to do to improve his country, but at least he wasn't expected to. Yet.

He sat back up and considered Lily. She seemed reasonably intelligent, interested in national affairs to at least some degree, and certainly willing to speak her mind.

"What would you do?" he asked. "To make Gryffindor a better place. If you could do anything."

"I hope this isn't some scheme to trap me into revealing traitorous thoughts."

"I don't scheme, ever. And as you've already betrayed your thoughts on the monarchy, and as I've already agreed with you, we're both established traitors to the crown."

Lily used a rag to clean a persistent spot off of a knife, looking deep in thought.

"A weaker monarchy, yes," she said. "I'd start there. The Hufflepuffs who come in here have issues with their leaders, and their remaining nobility, but it's not the same as the way Gryffindors talk about the king."

"And?"

"I suppose I would do something else with Hogwarts. Maintaining as many castles for nobility as we do is a drain on resources. If anything we need more of a presence in Manchester, not further north than the capital, according to some of the soldiers I've met. It would be better to consolidate resources into Newcastle. It's where monarchs spend most of their time anyway, and it's our biggest port city."

She nodded toward the few remaining patrons sitting at the tables behind James. "And a lot of people who come up this way for royal business in the winter wish the king would stay somewhere more accessible. It makes no sense to have a castle here. I assume it's more picturesque than Manchester, but that shouldn't be the basis for those sorts of decisions."

Sometime during her speech, which she'd started delivering more to herself than to him, James started beaming and couldn't seem to stop. It was idiotic, really, that he was reacting like this. This was exactly the sort of talk that he dreaded at the castle—and she certainly wasn't the first to propose all those ideas—but coming from her they seemed new, like they mattered.

"And would you lower taxes, then, with your savings?" he asked.

"No," she said with confidence. "I'd repurpose the funds toward helping the poor and defending the border against Slytherin."

He'd thought her pretty, when they'd first met, but he now realized that he'd been selling her short. She was stunning, truly, with the candlelight gleaming off her hair and her head tilted down toward her task just so, highlighting her face in profile. The slope of her nose, those deft eyes, that clever mouth, her stubby, grimy fingernails…she was a person. A real person, not like those stupid flimsy girls his parents tried to shove on him at every turn.

Her hands worked without her putting much thought into it, and she was wearing a proud smile but trying to hide it from him. She listened when her patrons spoke to her, that much was obvious—really listened, not the sort of listening James did when his mother went on a tangent about silverware—and she'd integrated her own thoughts with the suggestions of perfect strangers.

It didn't come to him immediately, what was so doggedly attractive to him about this, but eventually it did, once she'd moved on to taxation structures.

She cared.

She cared about the people of Gryffindor like James did.

She saw a better Gryffindor. James did, too, but he didn't know how to get there.

She, by all appearances, did.

"Anyway," Lily said, standing up. "The hopes and dreams of a lowly pub worker. Make sure to pass them on to the king, would you, oh ye of the highborn."

"I'd bring them up myself, but as we've discussed…."

She let out a short laugh. "Oh, yes, at your next meeting. Of course."

"I could," he clarified. "I'm just saying that it's a waste of effort. He wouldn't listen."

"You know," she said, collecting all the utensils together, "you shouldn't let the fact that you share a name with the prince go to your head. Someone might actually mistake you for him one of these days."

James stared at her as she walked off into the back.

That certainly explained a lot.

* * *

"Peter, I've come to you in my hour of need."

"Er," said Peter.

All things equal, James really would have preferred to talk to Remus, but Peter would do in a pinch. He was a better option than Sirius on matters of the heart—that was for certain. James had been distracted all day, enough that McGonagall had chased him out of his lessons for inattention, and he needed resolution.

James pushed past him into Peter's chambers and moved to stand by the window. Although their towers were neighbors and shared a common area below, the guest tower overlooked the lake more than James'.

"What happened?" Peter asked.

James sighed. "I met a girl, is what happened. A woman, I should say."

"Lily?"

James had forgot they'd suspected he fancied her. "Yes," he said, annoyed.

"I don't understand. I've met her, too, James."

"Yes, but I _fancy_ her."

Sirius would have burst out laughing, and mocked James for being so predictable, but Peter stayed silent for a long minute.

"That's inconvenient," Peter said. "Even if she did fancy you, at least she knows you're the prince so there's no confusion over the fact that you don't have a future together."

"That's just it, though." James turned away from the window. "She doesn't know. I misunderstood, or something, but she thinks I'm just some run-of-the-mill noble."

"Oh."

"Quite."

"Maybe you should stop going to The Three Broomsticks?"

"The thought of never seeing her again sounds horrendous."

"Never tell her how you feel or that you're the prince and hope your feelings go away?"

"Equally horrific. Try again."

"James…." Peter gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know. Sorry."

James relented. "I know. It's an impossible situation."

"As far as I can tell."

"But I want her, Peter." James dropped himself into one of the chairs near the window. "I don't care if my children are magic or not, or that she isn't noble."

"You may not care, but everyone else does."

James tapped his fingers on the armrest. "But they're not the prince. Only I can say who I marry, technically. They can't force marry me to someone else, can they?"

"Are you really so set on her? You barely know her."

"I know enough. She's…I don't know. Real. Opinionated. Clever. Gorgeous. Besides, she likes me better now than she did before. I made her laugh last night."

Peter sat down in the chair next to James and considered him. "I suppose it would have been difficult for her to dislike you more."

"Oi."

"Sorry."

"No, you're right. But she apologized! And she gave me advice."

Peter sank back in his seat, and they sat in silence while several minutes ticked by.

James knew it was a poor situation, and the easiest thing to do would be to say nothing. But that wasn't his style, for one, and for another he'd never felt such a pressing need to confess to a woman how he felt before.

"Then tell her," Peter finally said.

"Tell her and then what?"

"See what happens? It would certainly be unorthodox, but like you said, you are the prince. Maybe you can have someone else bear your children."

"Right. I am the prince. I can do what I want, right? That's one of the perks."

"Are you actually going to try this?" Peter asked a little anxiously.

"Am I going to try making a go of it with a nonmagical barmaid? Why not. I've done stupider things in my life."

And that was it, really. He fancied her, and he wanted to tell her, and that was all that mattered. He'd never let his status stop him from doing things before.

"You know," Peter said, "if you're really keen on her, and you want to show her you don't care about her status, you should tell her publicly."

"Like in front of the pub?"

"Girls love big, dramatic gestures."

"Do they?"

James supposed this wasn't entirely inaccurate. He'd read in a book about a girl swooning when the hero had sung to her in front of other people.

"When I propose to Helena," Peter said, "I'm going to do it in the middle of a ball. She'll like that."

James wasn't entirely sold on the idea, but Peter obviously knew more about the fairer sex than James did. Peter was practically engaged to a perfectly respectable woman. Maybe James had been approaching things the wrong way for years. He'd had awful luck with the few girls he'd fancied in the past, only in part because most of them weren't suitable noble women.

"But then everyone will know I'm the prince," James said.

"How else can you prove to her that you mean it, though? If you told her in private, she might just think you just want a dalliance before marrying someone else."

"Right, yeah. I don't want her to think that."

"Of course not. You need to make your intentions clear. Make your feelings clear, but maybe not propose quite yet."

"No, no. That's a little quick."

Peter started making suggestions on what to say but James stopped paying attention. A niggling bud of an idea had appeared in his mind, and it blotted out all sensory input.

Obviously he would have a hell of a time marrying Lily as long as he was the prince.

But what if he wasn't the prince?

Then he could marry whomever he liked. Then he wouldn't have to decide whether or not people were guilty of crimes or tell soldiers where to go. Then he would be able to tell his mother to sod off and run away with Lily and Algernon.

Peter was next in line. That was all well and good. He'd make a fine king. Probably.

Sirius might come with James. He hated the shackles of nobility even more than James did. He and Lily could learn to get along. They could bring Mary, too.

In that light, Peter's suggestion worked perfectly. Would anyone blame him for skiving off on his duties to be with the woman he loved?

He would cause a scandal. But it would be worth it. Besides, Lily seemed to like him at least a little. If he'd fallen for her, why shouldn't she have fallen for him already?

"James."

"Sorry?"

Peter nodded toward the door. "Do you want to do it now?"

"Er, do what?"

"Go tell her how you feel."

James hesitated. "Do we have to do it right away?"

"If we don't, you might rethink, and then she might find out on her own who you are and she won't like that at all."

James was missing something here, he knew it, but telling her exactly how he felt and seeing her look of shock and delight appealed too much to be denied.

* * *

Dressed in one of his finer cloaks and his favorite boots, James pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks once more.

Lily looked up at him from the bar and he thought he detected a bit of a smile when she saw him.

Only a few patrons turned their heads toward him when he cleared his throat and called for their attention.

"If I may," he began, projecting his voice across the room as he'd been taught, "I should like to make an announcement. I, Prince James George Potter of Gryffindor—" a few more heads turned his way, "—do declare my affections for Ms. Lily Evans."

A good portion of the pub had stopped what they were doing and were whispering and glancing at James, assessing his outfit and his claim. Mary looked positively gleeful and was blatantly ignoring the patron trying to talk to her.

He started to wonder if Peter's suggestion hadn't been the best idea when he read the look of dawning horror on Lily's face.

A sudden, strong wave of magic swept over him at the exact moment the windows facing out onto the streets of Hogsmeade shattered, flinging shards of glass out onto the snow drifts outside.

It hadn't been him or Peter, that much James knew. He glanced around the pub to ensure everyone was all right, and then he noticed Lily's expression had changed. She no longer looked angry, but there was no mistaking the look on her face.

Guilt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"You're the bleeding Prince of Gryffindor!" she said once they were ensconced in the back office.

"And you're magic!"

"_You just told the entire pub that you're the prince and you fancy me_."

"In my defense, they're both true."

She slapped him on the arm. "You are _unbelievable_."

"I don't see why I'm the villain here," James said, holding up his arm as a shield against further violence. "I thought you knew until yesterday."

"That you fancied me?" she demanded.

"No, that I was the prince."

"How on earth was I supposed to know you were the prince?"

"You said you knew who I was. How else was I supposed to interpret that?"

"I meant that I'd seen you before, you complete and utter fool."

"Oh." He let his arm drop. "That does rather make more sense. Wait, then why did you hate me? I thought you hated me for being the prince."

"No. I hated you because you were cruel to my friend."

"What?" James frowned. "When was this?"

"Three years ago," she said tartly. "You did something so awful he wouldn't even explain what you'd done. I only arrived in time to see you walking away with your sycophants. You looked back and saw me and you laughed."

He raised his eyebrows. "Now who's the fool, hating me for something I did as a child."

"That's a perfectly reasonable reason to hate someone."

He didn't remember her, not at all, and her description of the event didn't contain enough details to jog his memory. Granted, he knew what he'd been like at fifteen, and although it was possible that she'd mistaken him for someone else, it was just as likely that it had been him.

"Maybe it was enough to hate me," he conceded. "But I'm not the same person I was when I was fifteen, I'll have you know."

"I beg to differ. What kind of an idiotic prince declares he fancies some lowly woman in the village?"

"A brave one."

"Oh, shut it." She pushed a loose hair out of her face. "All right. Here's what we're going to do. We'll tell everyone it's a joke. Several people out there recognize you and we can convince everyone else."

"You know," said James, "we actually have something more significant to discuss."

"Oh, _do_ tell."

"The fact that you're a witch?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You shattered those windows. That was magic."

"That was…a freak accident."

"Lily, I'm willing to bet as much money as you make in a year that strange things like that have happened around you all your life."

She started shaking her head, but James continued, "It's alright, you know. I'm a wizard, too."

She let out a frustrated breath. "Have you gone completely mad?"

"I'd show you but my father took my wand away so—"

"Your _wand_," she said flatly. "Please tell me about your pointed hat and green skin while you're at it."

"Oh, hold on a minute, I'll get Peter to show you some." James strode to the door and opened it enough to stick his head out. "Oi, Peter, a moment of your time?"

James stepped back to let Peter hurry inside and shut the door behind him.

"Would you mind showing the lady a simple feat of magic?" he asked.

Peter eyed Lily. "Are you sure—"

"Positive," said James. "If you please."

Peter bit his lip, pulled his wand out of his pocket, and cast a weak _Lumos_. The harsh light lit up the room more than the few candles dotting the walls.

James eagerly looked to Lily, but she didn't seem excited. Instead she'd folded her arms over her chest and was half turned away from Peter.

"There's much more than this, I promise," said James.

Lily didn't say anything for a long moment, and she held herself very still.

"Do you need more proof?" James said, wishing he knew what to say to her. "Peter can do all sorts of things."

She gave a small shake of her head, not looking at either of them.

"Thanks, Peter," James said pointedly.

Peter looked at Lily uncertainly and then back to James.

James nodded his head toward the corridor and waited for Peter to quietly shut the door behind himself before approaching Lily.

"Why do you skulk around pretending to be common?" she said quietly, still not looking at him.

He wanted to reach out and offer her something—comfort or companionship or whatever it was she needed.

"It can't be that difficult to figure out, can it?" he said.

She made a noncommittal noise.

He sighed. "I'm not an idiot—my parents aren't exactly beloved. They're tolerated and maybe a little liked. Not to mention the obvious—_I don't want to be treated like royalty_. People are no fun when they know I'm the prince."

"Well, I certainly didn't treat you like a prince."

"No," he said, his voice low, "you didn't, and that's a major factor in why I fancy you."

She turned to him quite suddenly, her arms dropping to her sides. "Would you please stop saying that?"

She didn't plead. She simply requested, like she was asking him to pass the salt.

He ran a hand through his hair. "Why? It's true. Promise."

"And what exactly did you think would happen tonight?" she asked, her voice building to a crescendo. "That you'd barge in, announce your sudden and inexplicable love, and whisk me off to an immediate wedding at Hogwarts?"

"No, I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't," she said sharply. "James—or, Your Royal Highness—"

"_Don't_," he said. "Don't call me that."

"Fine. James."

It burned that he now had to wonder if she took that as a royal order.

"You clearly haven't thought this through at all," she said. "The person you marry will be the queen someday. I'm ineligible."

"I didn't ask you to marry me," he objected. He didn't want to reveal that he'd intended to step down, not when she would probably use it as a weapon against him.

"You might as well have," she said, more loudly than James thought she'd intended. "Do you know what my life will be like now, if we can't convince them you were joking? Whenever you do get married, to whatever prissy noble girl you choose, I'll be that girl the prince fancied once upon a time. No one in this town will ever forget what just transpired in my pub. I will always be tied to you, in one way or another, you arrogant twat."

He stood there with his arms hanging uselessly at his sides, unable to move.

What the hell had he been thinking? Of course this had been a terrible idea. He'd secretly suspected as much, but Peter had assured him it was sound, and he had…he had wanted to tell her how he felt, quite desperately.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You're right. This was—ridiculous. I'll go out and say I was lying."

"You had better."

He sighed. "Can I point out again the impossibility of you being a witch? I think that's the more important topic of discussion at the moment."

"You suggested it as a fact and now you're claiming it's an impossibility. Which is it?"

"Both. I've never met a witch or wizard who wasn't a member of the nobility. You really need two magical parents to have strong magical children, and most nobles breed their children like they breed their horses. You've come out of nowhere on the magical family tree."

"Charming."

"You must have noble blood somewhere in your ancestry. Are you sure your father wasn't magic?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "If he was a wizard he never spoke of it. He knew about my incidents and told me to hide them. I'm sure if he knew about magic he would've told me."

James leaned on the edge of the desk and rubbed a hand along his chin, considering her. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself, but you are clearly a witch. A decently powerful one, judging by your incident."

"Brilliant."

"This isn't some terminal diagnosis, Lily. You'll actually live longer than Muggles. Not to mention, _you can do magic_," James said, trying to make it sound as tempting and exciting as possible. "Whatever you want is now within your grasp."

"And what would you know about what I want?"

"I admit, tonight has been a learning experience."

"I can impart the lesson again if you should require it."

James grimaced. "I apologize for…that, but on the bright side, at least now you know what you are."

"Please explain how my knowledge that I'm what you've just described to me as some freakish anomaly should make me feel better."

"That's not—sorry. I'm not explaining this well." James rubbed the back of his neck. "You're unexpected, I admit, but don't you see? Now you can learn magic properly."

"Don't tell me. Hogwarts is a magic school."

"It's not, but you don't need a school." He smiled. "You've got me."

"Why does it have to be you?" She slanted a glance toward the door. "Why can't Peter teach me magic? He seems like a decent person."

"If it helps, tonight was his idea."

She pressed her lips together. "And there's no one else?"

"I'm your best option, unless you want Sirius to teach you."

He supposed he could try to persuade McGonagall to teach Lily, but then he would have to reveal that he spent more of his nights outside the castle than within. He couldn't be sure McGonagall wouldn't put a stop to that, in which case Lily would get no magical instruction at all.

"How are you going to teach me magic without a wand?" she asked.

"Er, right. Yes. I'll have to persuade my father to give it back."

"Your father. The king."

James sighed. "I know, all right?"

"You were talking about him yesterday."

"Yes, obviously."

"You said you wanted to weaken the monarchy."

"Of course I do. Someday I'm going to be king. Isn't that a terrifying prospect?"

"Oh, God. Oh, _God_. _You're_ going to be _king_."

"Tell me about it."

"You. The idiot who just pranced in here and made a complete fool of himself."

"Believe me, I certainly wouldn't vote for myself given the chance."

She sank down onto the edge of her desk next to him and stared at the floor.

How could he have thought she'd known he was the prince? She wouldn't have treated royalty rudely without knowing they wouldn't imprison her for it. She wasn't a complete idiot like he was.

And he couldn't imagine growing up not knowing he was magic. Obviously she'd had hints, but she'd never had any sense of who she was, or what she was capable of.

"What did you think your magic was?" he asked.

She gave him a grim smile. "Nothing positive, generally speaking."

"It's good. Magic is, I mean." James resisted the urge to reach out and rub her shoulder. "People can use it for bad things—look at Slytherin—but it isn't inherently bad, really. Although it might be best if you didn't tell anyone about you being a witch, for your own safety."

"I suppose I was already hiding it from everyone." She sat up straighter and ran a hand over her lap to smooth her skirts. "It shouldn't be that much harder to hide a label."

He wanted to do something for her, anything at all, to make her feel less awful about it. It should have been a joyful, thrilling moment, but she hadn't taken it that way at all.

Then again, he supposed this didn't change much in her life at all. Knowing that she had magic didn't mean she wouldn't have it, or that she wouldn't have to conceal it.

But she wouldn't be alone, not so long as he could help it.

"I'll come around when I can," he said. "And so will Peter and Sirius. And my friend Remus, you'll like him, he'll be here soon."

"You assume I want you around after the fiasco you've just committed in my pub?"

Once more, she left him reeling.

"I'll stay away if you like," he said, stomach clenching. He owed it to her, really, after embarrassing her that way.

She sighed. "I suppose you can stick around. So long as you don't shatter any more windows. And you agree to tell me more about magic."

His muscles loosened a little. "Fair enough. I can come back tomorrow, if you like. To teach you something. I'm not sure what, yet, but something."

"That would be…fine." She stood up. "I should get back to work. Mary will wonder where I've gone."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Peter must be bored stiff out there."

"So, tomorrow, then."

"Yes."

"I…look forward to it."

He watched her leave the office and pause in the doorway, waiting for him to follow. She was so…he never knew what to expect from her. It was maddening.

And, of course, wonderful beyond belief.

The fact that she didn't seem to fancy him back tore at his chest, a fresh scrape rubbed raw, but he shoved it aside and followed her out into the pub.

* * *

"Erm, attention, everyone." James cleared his throat and looked out at the crowd from his position on top of the bar. "Thank you for your participation in my little joke. All in good fun, but our favorite barmaid isn't best pleased with my efforts. I thought if I pretended to be the prince—well, I don't want to waste your time. Suffice it to say I am obviously _not_ the prince."

"But do you fancy her?" someone called out.

James felt his cheeks heating up. "I do, but don't tell her, alright?"

Several people laughed, and James graced them with a quick bow before hopping down and taking a seat at the bar next to Peter. He noticed someone had hung sheets over the windows and wondered what people thought had happened.

Lily came out from the back doorway not two seconds later looking properly furious. He hoped it was mostly an act, but he wasn't fool enough to think it was all feigned. She headed out into the sea of tables and avoided looking at him.

Mary was not so shy. She all but ran over to James as soon as stepped down.

"I knew it!" She slammed an empty tankard down on the bar in front of James. "I knew you fancied her!"

"Yes, well, well done. Obviously it's not mutual."

"Oh, she fancies you a little. Or she did, until tonight."

"What evidence are you basing that assertion on?"

Mary hummed a light melody. "I'm sure I couldn't tell you any more than that, Prince James."

"Yes, about that, still not the prince."

"I don't care. I think the title suits you anyway."

"Thanks," he said dryly. "That means the world to me."

"Cheer up. She'll forget about it soon enough. Although you really need to work on your flirting techniques."

"Step one in my reform program is not listening to Peter anymore."

Peter ducked his head, and Mary laughed and went to fetch them drinks.

"Well, that was a complete fucking disaster," James said when she'd left.

"Well…yes," Peter said. "It would have worked on Helena. But you tried, right?"

James twisted in his seat to look Peter in the eye. "The next time I come to you for romantic advice, remind me that I've banned you from giving it to me."

"That…might be best."

"Yes."

"I'm really sorry. I'm not half the schemer you are."

"Sheningan-maker. And it's not your fault. I should've known it wouldn't work on Lily. Now she hates me more. On the upside," he leaned in and whispered, "_she's magic_, Peter."

"Yeah," Peter said, his voice strangely hollow. "She is."

* * *

"I need my wand back," said James. "Please."

George lowered his glasses and looked up at James from the papers he'd been reading. "I wasn't aware we'd come to an accord."

"We haven't. But…I miss it. What do I have to do?"

"You recall the incident that provoked your mother's harsh response, do you not?"

James closed his eyes. "Yes."

His father pulled off his glasses and gently set them on the table. "Your mother has invited the Lady Valerie Turpin of Ravenclaw and her family to visit Hogwarts. I expect you to behave as a gentleman, in the manner in which your mother and I raised you."

James' stomach tightened in a knot. He hadn't been expecting another one so soon, not after how he'd ended things last time. He had five smart retorts ready to go but he reminded himself he wasn't being antagonizing. This was for Lily. He could put up with another annoying girl for her.

"I'm sorry about the Marks," he said. "I wasn't ready then, but I am now. I promise."

George gave James an assessing gaze. "Very well. Speak to Dumbledore about where he's stored your wand."

"Thank you."

His father put his reading glasses back on and looked down at his desk.

"And…what about Algernon?" James asked, hating himself for sounding a little pathetic.

"If you behave well around the Turpins," George said absently, eyes still on the parchment in front of him. "I don't see why Algernon shouldn't be freed from your mother's clutches."

James swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Right. Thanks."

"And I still need your opinion on that murder hearing."

"It's coming. I'm taking time to deliberate the issue very seriously."

"Excellent."

James had made up his mind about the hearing within an hour of its conclusion but he hadn't been able to put ink to paper.

"Thanks," James added tersely, and restrained himself from running for the door.

Instead he calmly turned and left, shut the door with no fuss, strolled down the corridor to one of the many empty rooms, locked himself inside. He cursed aloud for a good five minutes, utilizing every foul word or turn of phrase that came to mind.

Still hurting but at least not as worked up about missing Algernon, he walked up to the fifth floor to find Dumbledore.

* * *

James hadn't met Valerie Turpin yet, but he'd met plenty of Ravenclaws in his time and he didn't care for the majority of them. They were too detached for James' liking. George had told their envoys all about the spies that afternoon, and the Ravenclaws had followed George's example and said they needed time to think.

James wondered how many spies they would have to catch before someone would actually do something. They couldn't really believe they'd caught all of them.

He stomped up the stairs to his room and found Sirius and Terry arguing. He didn't care what it was about, honestly, and he knew he'd side with Sirius.

"Terry," James said, "I need to rage and shout. I won't need you tonight."

"But, sir, I'd be more than happy—"

James simply pointed to the door, and Terry shuffled out of the room.

"That doesn't normally work," Sirius said.

"I'm not usually this…whatever I am."

"Moping? Disgruntled?"

"Those will suffice. Thank you."

"Of course, my prince."

"Oh, fuck off."

Sirius had the decency to look apologetic. "Let's go to the pub. I need to reassess Lily with new eyes. You need a drink or five."

James appreciated that he didn't mock James as mercilessly as he had that morning, after James had been forced to admit how spectacularly idiotic he'd been the night before.

"Give Terry a minute to settle down," James said. "I need to find some books anyway."

James moved in front of the enormous cherry bookcase that had one day shown up in his room, presumably at Sirius' request. Most of the books belonged to Sirius, but James had a few tucked away on a lower shelf.

"I think I'll start her on Potions." James realized he was effectively speaking to himself since Sirius didn't care and probably wasn't listening. "And then maybe Charms."

As expected, James found Sirius putting on deliberately bored airs when James stood up with two books in hand.

"Fine," James sighed, spelling the covers to look like law books. "Yes, we're going and I promise I won't talk about her the whole way."

Sirius grinned.

* * *

Overnight someone had boarded up the pub windows, and James wished he could cast a spell to fix them without arousing suspicion. He assumed Lily had come up with a suitable cover story – Merlin knew how many times she'd had to lie about her magic in her lifetime.

"Look, it's the prince!" one of the loggers shouted when James entered, and his friends roared with laughter.

James shut the pub door behind him and shot them an annoyed look. "Come on," he muttered to Sirius.

"At least they find the idea of you being the prince laughable, as they rightfully should," Sirius said, moving for the bar.

"You always make the most soothing remarks when I need them."

James dropped his books onto the bar and greeted Mary with a weary hello.

"My favorite patrons." Mary slid two tankards their way. "Do you have more dramatic announcements tonight?"

"Announcements?" James feigned his usual cheer. "No, I'm out of the announcements business. No money in it, I've learned. I think I'll take up brickmaking instead."

"And I'm going to get into construction," Sirius said. "It's a joint venture."

"Well, I'm sad to say that instead of keeping me company tonight," Mary said, "you should head out the front door, go in the alley entrance and through the kitchen to meet Lily in the office."

"Is she waiting there now?" James asked.

"Probably. I thought you might need a little bit of courage." Mary winked at him.

James spluttered through the sip he'd been taking. "That's not what we're doing in there."

"I'm going, too," Sirius told her. "Someone has to chaperone these two."

She pouted. "Lily made me promise I wouldn't ask what you two were up to, so I won't, but if you happened to tell me here and now, I might make those drinks on the house."

"We're discussing investment opportunities," James said. "Nothing so scandalous. But it's top secret and I don't want my father to hear about it."

Mary seemed downright disappointed. "Well, hurry up, then. Don't keep her waiting too much longer."

James sped through his drink, tossed some coins on the bar, and tugged Sirius away from his half-full tankard. They donned their hats and made all pretenses of leaving through the front door, but then ducked around back to enter through the alleyway.

James opened the back door but didn't enter. There was a short, wide-mouthed man standing at the stove in the kitchen that he didn't recognize.

"Er," James said.

"Oh, come on in," said the man. "Lily warned me there'd be a couple of poncy blokes coming through tonight."

"Right." James tried to share a look of confusion with Sirius, but apparently his best mate wasn't fazed that some bloke was in The Three Broomsticks' kitchen. "We'll just go through, then."

The man turned back to his work and stirred whatever he was cooking in a large, cast iron pot.

James pushed open the swinging kitchen door a couple of inches to ensure no one watching and, satisfied, passed through.

He didn't bother knocking on the office door, lest someone overhear. Inside he found Lily sitting behind her simple wooden desk, counting out coins into neat stacks arranged in a semi-circle around her.

"Who's that bloke in the kitchen?" James asked after stepping inside.

"Edwin," Lily said without losing count. "He works here."

"Wait, someone else works here besides you, Mary, and McNamee?"

Sirius laughed as he shut the door behind himself, and Lily paused to give James a look of disbelief.

"We were getting all our food from other people's rubbish," she said, "but then we decided that perhaps it would be best if we hired a cook."

"Oh. Right."

He hated that he always seemed to be his most idiotic self around her.

"Edwin's very good so don't bother him, all right?" Lily set the remaining coins aside. "It's hell trying to find a halfway decent cook to stay past the logging season."

She jotted something down on a piece of parchment, then moved around the desk to stand next to James. The grace that characterized her steps around the bar seemed to be her usual way of walking. He wondered whether she'd always been light-footed or whether working in a busy pub full of half-drunk patrons had brought it out in her.

"Are those for me?" she asked.

"They are." James shoved the books at her chest. "Oh, wait. Here." He pulled his wand out of his pocket and Revealed the true covers. "We've got a basic Potions book and one on Charms. They seemed the most applicable to what you already do."

She cradled the books in one arm and gently opened the cover of the Charms book.

"My notes are in there…sorry," James said. "You can ignore them."

James wished he had more books to hold so he would have something to do with his hands. He looked away from Lily for the first time in what seemed like ages and saw Sirius had settled into Lily's chair, with his legs propped up on the desk and a book already in hand.

Where James flipped through new books in search of the most interesting bits, Lily had opened to the first page and by all appearances was soaking in every word.

After a few minutes he cleared his throat.

"You can read those later, if you like, but I thought you might, er, want to try a spell or two."

Her head snapped up.

"Yes. Of course." She gave off every air of nonchalance but James could tell she was thrilled. She placed his books on the edge of her desk, and he handed her his wand.

She didn't hesitate, but she didn't grasp wildly either. She simply took it out of his hand and felt the weight of it in her palm. Then she held it up in front of her face, palms bookending the tip and the handle, before returning it to the correct and natural grip in her right hand.

"Let's start with a basic Levitation Charm, shall we?" James began. "Simply swish and flick the wand at the item in question and say, _Wingardium Leviosa_. Now, the pronunciation can be quite tricky—"

"_Wingardium Leviosa_?"

James frowned.

"What, did I say it wrong?"

"No, no," James said. "That was perfect."

"Then what?" she demanded. "What was that look?"

"It took him ages to get it," Sirius chimed in.

"Yes, thank you," James said, annoyed. "But you've said it just as you should, Lily, so now swish and flick the wand."

She gave the wand a sharp swipe and a too-wide flick.

"No, no." James grabbed the wand from her hand and demonstrated the proper wand movement. "Like that. Sorry, I've never taught magic before."

"Oh." She pulled the wand out of his hand and replicated his movements. "Like this?"

James blinked. "Yes. Yes, exactly."

She practiced the gesture a few times, eyes concentrating on the tip of the wand, and then looked up at him. "What do the words mean?"

"_Wingardium Leviosa_?"

"Yes. It's clearly based in Latin, but I'm not very familiar with anything besides the basics."

"Er, who taught you Latin?"

"My father. Now, the meaning?"

James ran his hand through his hair. "I'm not sure, honestly. Something levitation?"

Sirius chuckled, eyes still fixed on his book.

"Oh," Lily said, disappointed. "I'll give it a go, shall I?"

"Yes, let's start with that piece of parchment on the desk. Now, be careful not to overpower it—"

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she said, her voice quite calm, and she moved the wand just as James had.

The piece of parchment shot up to the ceiling in a loud rustle and splattered flat against the planks of wood.

"Er," said James, staring upwards.

"I assume that's not what's supposed to happen."

He brought his gaze down in time to catch the vulnerable look vanishing from her face.

"Technically you levitated it," James pointed out. "So technically…congratulations! You've cast your first spell."

She stared at the ceiling for a moment. "Will it come down on its own?"

"You might try lowering the wand."

"Oh." Her gaze dropped to her hand. "Of course," she said, a flush stealing over her cheeks, and she wrenched her hand down to her side.

The paper came floating down into the office at once, drifting in the heat of the candles, and landed on the floor between James and Lily with a soft crinkle.

"It might be the wand," James said. "You need one tailored to yourself to be truly successful as a witch."

"And how would one go about obtaining a wand?"

James swiveled to look at Sirius. "Padfoot, how do people who aren't the prince get their wands?"

"They go to Ollivander's."

"Right."

James started to wonder if there were any spare wands in the castle when Lily interrupted his thoughts.

"And where is Ollivander's?" she said.

"Right. Yes. Sorry," said James. "He has a shop in Newcastle, I believe?" He threw a questioning glance at Sirius.

Sirius nodded, and Lily's face fell.

"We'll figure something out," James said. "I promise."

He coached her through several more trials of the Levitation Charm. Within an hour she'd become much more adept at controlling the height of the parchment than he'd expected. He was willing to chalk that up to innate talent, though, since as it turned out James was not much of a teacher.

"This is it?" she said after successfully levitating the parchment over Sirius' head without dropping it. "Memorizing words and gestures?"

James grinned. "Nothing to it."

She glanced at the spellbooks on her desk. "But how do people invent spells? How do they put together the right words and movements?"

"I…really don't know, actually."

"Don't look at me," Sirius said.

"You don't seem very educated," she lamented.

"I'm plenty educated!" said James. "Believe me. Only I never really took to magical theory, and McGonagall stopped trying to force it on me most of the time."

Lily's shoulders straightened. He knew he shouldn't have mentioned McGonagall.

"McGonagall?" she said. "Your tutor?"

James nodded.

"Can't you ask her these things on my behalf?"

"I could," James said, "but she'd be suspicious, for one thing, and for another I'd probably forget and possibly not understand enough to explain it to you."

She sighed. "You not exactly the best teacher."

"It's not exactly my profession of choice, though, is it?"

"If you were considering it, for some reason, don't."

"Ouch."

She handed his wand back to him. "I'm sorry, should I speak more politely to the prince?"

"Can we please pretend I'm not the prince?"

"That's what I do every day," Sirius said.

Lily let out a short laugh. "I should hope you don't consider this my royal treatment."

"I should hope it isn't," said James. "I shudder to think how my mother would react to your manners."

"All the more reason for you not to fancy me."

He didn't really mind her teasing because at least it seemed like her. The whole magic lesson she'd been too restrained, too neutral.

"Oh, I've plenty of reasons for fancying you," James said, starting to grin.

Suddenly the door to the office swung open.

James shoved his wand in his pocket.

"Lily," came a teasing voice, "I hear the prince himself—"

A young man with lank black hair, an enormous nose, and a slight hunch to his shoulders stood in the doorway, his hand still gripping the doorknob.

"You," James said, without knowing he was going to say it. He recognized this man, at least a little.

The man's look of utter surprise quickly morphed to one of disgust. "_You_."

James had never heard so much hatred evoked with one small syllable.

"I'm sorry," James said cautiously. "You appear to recall me quite easily, but I can't seem to place your face."

James broke eye contact with the man to take in Lily's reaction. Bafflingly, she looked terribly guilty.

"Severus," she said delicately. "This is James."

"What is this vile man doing in your office?" Severus spat.

"It's…complicated."

"Is this the man who pathetically pretended to be the prince and declared his feelings for you?"

"Mary shouldn't have told you about that. It was a stupid joke."

"You would consort with _him_," Severus said, "in private, after he made a fool of you, and knowing the acts he has committed against me?"

This time Sirius shared James' puzzled look.

Lily took a step toward Severus. "I can explain."

"Unless your explanation is that you removed him to your office to poison him, I'm not sure I can comprehend."

"Would you _listen_?"Lily said sharply.

"Leave her alone," said James.

She whirled on him. "You stay out of this."

"Is he your champion now?" Severus mocked. "Did the faux prince act appeal to your sensibilities?"

"She doesn't care for me at all." James was disliking Severus more by the minute. "Why are you jumping to conclusions?"

"Stop it," Lily snapped at James, then turned back to Severus. "Although I agree that you are being completely unreasonable right now, Severus."

"_I'm _being unreasonable."

"Get out of my pub," Lily said. "Now."

Severus sneered. "With pleasure."

He slammed the door shut on his way out, with enough force that James felt the reverberations through his boots.

"So," James said meekly. "Is that the friend you mentioned?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Lily threw him a withering look.

"What did I do?" James protested.

"I can handle myself," she said. "Severus is my friend and he's every right to be annoyed that I'm in here with you."

"How do you figure that?"

"I don't have time to explain friendship to you. I need to get back to work."

"Fine," said James. "I apologize for trying to help."

"I don't need your help."

He raised his eyebrows.

She waved a dismissive hand at him. "You know what I mean. You're not that stupid."

"Oh, well, thanks for that."

He told himself that she didn't mean that as poorly as he'd taken it, and focused on keeping himself from asking more about this Severus person and who he was.

He wished he could remember the incident Lily had mentioned. Defending himself against unknown charges would be difficult.

She allowed herself a deep breath. "Will you ask your teacher some of my questions?"

"I'll try, but I can't promise I'll be able to convey everything she says."

"Trying is enough."

"In the meantime you can read those books."

Lily looked stricken. "I hope Severus didn't notice them."

James grimaced and changed the covers with a quick wave of his wand. "He seemed fairly preoccupied. I don't think he saw anything."

She moved around her desk and stopped next to her chair, lost in thought for a moment.

"Tomorrow I'll be too busy because it's Mary's night off." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and looked at James. "Can we have another lesson the night after, though? If you're free."

"I'm always free for you," he said, hoping it sounded as suave out loud as it did in his head.

She rolled her eyes at him, and his heart sank. So much for suave.

"I'll see you then," she said.

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Right. Good night."

He and Sirius started for the door.

"James," Lily said, and James turned back. "Thank you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, it's…no problem. No problem at all."

"All the same." She dropped her gaze to the coins still on her desk. "Thanks."

* * *

"Er, Father." James stopped in the doorway to his bedroom and focused very intently on not appearing remotely guilty. "Hello."

George stood up from one of the chairs by the fireplace. "I expected better from you, James."

Sirius took a step forward, but James reached out and tugged on his sleeve. Sirius gave him a questioning look, but James slanted a glance toward the door, and Sirius nodded.

Soon James heard Sirius' footsteps thudding down the staircase behind him.

George strode across the room and stood in front of James. Two years earlier, George would have towered over him. Now they were of a height.

"I trusted you when I returned your wand," George said. "You promised me improved behavior, and yet here we are not one day later."

James stepped around his father and, without any real purpose besides distancing himself, moved across the room to stand by his bed. He wasn't a complete coward, though, so he turned back to face his father. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Where were you tonight?"

"Wandering around the castle."

George folded his arms. "We couldn't find you anywhere, not even with magical means."

"Well, maybe the room I was in was too magically potent."

"We checked the Room of Requirement."

"Oh." James hadn't thought his father had known about that.

"I'll ask again. Where were you?"

"Outside. Within the castle grounds," James tried.

"And how did you manage to sneak past the guards?"

"Er."

"James."

"Magic?"

George took a small step forward. "We were worried about you."

"No need for that. I'm fine, obviously."

"James."

"What?" James asked wearily. "You can't expect me to stay in this empty castle all winter. I'd go mad."

"I expect you to follow my orders, particularly when the situation with the border is so unstable."

"No one in the village recognizes me anyway. I'm perfectly safe."

"They may very well know what you look like. We've no way of knowing, and I will not allow you to cavort about risking your life for no purpose."

James realized both his hands had curled into fists, but he didn't unclench them. "Then let me out of here every once in a while and I won't have to go out without you knowing."

"You were confined as a punishment, if you recall."

"I'm a grown man, Father. You can't expect me to accept punishments I don't believe I deserve. I'm not a child."

"Were you anyone else's son, that might be the case, but those are not the circumstances in which we live."

James shoved his fists into his cloak pockets so his hand could feel the reassuring grip of his wand. "What will you do now? Take back my wand again? Confine me to my room? Kill my cat?"

"The former two certainly occurred to me."

His father gave him a look that said he would brook no more exaggeration, but James had never been one to listen to his father.

"Only to be let out to talk to Valerie Turpin, I imagine," James said.

"James."

"This is absurd!"

"As I recall, you were the one who seemed to believe Slytherin's recent tactics posed more of an immediate threat than I did."

"I didn't—" James scowled. "I didn't mean I thought they were coming for me."

James hated the smug look on George's face. How hypocritical of him to confine James under pretenses of safety, and yet do nothing to fight off the actual source of the threat.

"But it is a possibility, is it not?" George said. "Don't tell me the thought hadn't occurred to you."

"Not really. What's the point? Peter would become king."

"And if they kidnapped you rather than killed you?"

James let a frustrated noise between clenched teeth.

"You're too rash and it's going to get you killed," George said.

"You're too slow and it's going to get all of us killed," James shot back.

"On that we'll have to agree to disagree, and as I am the king…."

James reminded himself that cursing and punching his father were both likely to earn him even worse punishments.

"Fine," James said. "Are you done scolding me?"

"Your wand."

James had hoped George would forget, but hadn't really expected him to. He held out his wand, handle first, but made his father come to him to take it.

George slid James' wand into his pocket and exhaled deeply. "I'm stationing Heaney and Crabtree on rotation outside your door for the foreseeable future."

James groaned.

"And I would remind you," George added, "that we pay Heaney for a specific function and I expect you to allow him to do his job."

"I don't need help getting dressed," James muttered. "I'm not an invalid."

George gave him a pointed look. "All the same. Oh, and lest I forget."

James refused to shirk when George pulled his own wand out and shot a web of golden light at James. At least it was only a tracking charm, but still. He wasn't a child, for Merlin's sake.

"Will you leave me in peace now?" James said.

"As you wish," said George, sounding just a little forlorn.

"Grand. Thank you ever so much for your kindness."

"James."

"Good night," James said, as rudely as he could manage.

"Good night," George said sternly. Then he softened, just enough that James noticed. "I can't lose you, James."

James said nothing, and his father left.

* * *

Things looked no better in the morning.

Sirius must have returned some point after James had finally drifted off. James could see his chest rising and falling beneath a pile of red blankets. Where James slept in a sprawled out mess, Sirius tended to lay perfectly straight on his back, arms tucked behind his head.

There was no point in getting out of bed, really. Breakfast would be there soon and then he had a full day of nothing ahead of him. He supposed he might have a magic lesson, but even that seemed infuriating because he'd lost his wand again. And maybe it had been stupid to ask for it back and then run off right away. Of course his father would have been expecting it. He should have waited, obviously.

He rolled over to face the nearest window. It wasn't particularly early, but only a few slivers of light had broken through the thick morning clouds.

Abdication weighed heavily on his mind, a persistent itch that demanded attention. He no longer had the excuse of young, socially unacceptable love to rely on, but that didn't mean that he couldn't still abdicate. No one could force him to hold the throne, not if he didn't want it. The thought of telling his father to sod off and then hopping on a broom appealed to him immensely.

But now he had to help Lily with her magic, and she wasn't going to run off with him anytime soon. He'd very probably ruined any chance he'd had with her when he'd embarrassed her in front of everyone she knew. He felt obligated to make it up to her by ensuring she learned at least the basics of magic.

Then he could abdicate. If he wanted.

At least Remus would arrive that evening. He could tell James what to do.

Sometime before lunch, James heard the door open but couldn't be bothered to look up. While Sirius had gone to the library to fetch new books, James had sprawled out on his bed and thrown a pillow over his face to block out the sun.

"What?" he said, his voice muffled.

"A visitor," came his mother's low voice.

"Go away."

"Get up, you lazy git."

"Why?"

James didn't need further explanation, though, when he felt familiar paws leap onto his stomach.

"Algernon!"

He flung the pillow off his face and received several immediate rough licks to his cheek.

"Oi," James said, not really bothered.

He grabbed Algernon round the middle, lifting him so James could sit up properly. Algernon meowed, not entirely pleased, and James let go. After walking around in a circle twice, Algernon settled down into the nest of blankets gathered at James' waist and began purring loudly. James' hand started stroking along his back, smoothing down Algernon's wild orange fur.

"A thank you would be sufficient." Odette, tucked her skirts under her as she sat at the end of James' bed. She flipped her long white braid over her shoulder with one hand. "Any sort of acknowledgment, really."

"Thank you," James said, and he meant it.

"Unfortunately your father can't know about it and I have to take Algernon back with me, but he's been exceptionally depressed without you."

"He's not the only one," James said under his breath.

"I'd scold you for running around Hogsmeade but I think your father has rather covered that."

James didn't say anything and looked at Algernon's twitching ears.

"We only do these things because we care about you and your future," she said.

He sighed and scratched Algernon behind the ears. "I know."

"Please don't run about unprotected again."

His parents had all too often used the carrot and the stick in unison. James didn't care for it.

"It's not like I'm dancing on the border taunting the Slytherin army, Mother."

"A good thing, too. You didn't inherit my perfect sense of rhythm."

"My hips were born to dance," he muttered, trying not to smile. Then he let himself grin and look at his mother. "Can I turn Father into a goat?"

"No."

"Not even for a minute?"

"No."

"A gecko?"

"Sadly, no. Only I am allowed to do that."

She had, once, when James had been about eight. He never understood what it was about, really. Something to do with Italy.

"The Turpins arrive this evening," she said.

"I await the very minute of their arrival with bated breath."

"You haven't even met her yet. You might very well come to like her."

"I'll bet you my wand I don't."

"You never will with that attitude."

James wanted to counter that he hadn't expected to like Lily but that it had happened of its own accord.

"Urgh," he said instead.

"Let's stick to full, proper words today, shall we?"

"Blergh."

She let out one of her deep-bellied laughs, and James couldn't fight back his smile.

"Honestly, though," he said, "when have I ever liked any of the girls you've brought here?"

James accidentally scratched too hard against Algernon's head, and he felt the light prick of his cat's claws emerging. Still, it was a tribute to how much Algernon had missed him that James received only a warning and not immediate retribution.

"You liked the Deacons' lady's maid well enough," Odette said tartly.

James grinned. "Oh, yes, she was lovely."

She tilted her head down to look at him over the rims of her glasses.

"What?" James said. "She was."

"For your own good, please consider the Turpins' staff off-limits."

"I'll try my best but I make no promises."

He didn't have to try, really. There was only one girl he was interested in anyway, and she had nothing to do with the Turpins.

Of course, thinking of Lily made him realize he'd miss her next lesson.

His mother left soon enough, wrangling a furious Algernon in her arms, and James had Terry send for Peter while James quickly penned a letter.

"I need you to take this letter to Lily," James said when Peter arrived, shoving a sealed envelope into his hands.

Peter held up the letter and furrowed his brow. "You want me to deliver it?"

"They'll be watching Sirius more than they'll be watching you," James explained. "Please."

James liked the look on Peter's face when James asked for favors. James didn't ask for as many as he had when they'd been kids. Back then Peter would have tripped over his own two feet running to do what James asked. Admittedly James had abused this trust, then, sending him down to the kitchen to fetch sweets.

That was rather awful, he realized, that he'd used Peter like he used his cat now. He reminded himself never to point out the similarities to Peter. Or to Algernon.

"Of course!" said Peter. "Whatever you need."

"It doesn't have to be right away, but before tonight, please, so she can readjust her schedule for tomorrow."

Peter looked for a suitable place to put the letter on his person, but couldn't find one and just held the letter in his hand. "Thanks for trusting me with this, especially after…last time."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," James lied. "You've always been a mate, Wormtail."

"You, too, Prongs."

* * *

James' parents allowed him out of his room for dinner to meet the Turpins. Terry dressed him in an outfit his mother had picked out, much to James' chagrin. James knew puffy sleeves were popular, but these were ridiculous. He was sure to drag them through his meal at some point.

In the Great Hall his parents introduced him to the Lord and Lady Turpin, a weedy looking couple both dressed in blue. James plastered a smile to his face and suffered through a dull conversation about their journey to Hogwarts.

Valerie Turpin was pretty enough, he'd give her that. Her brown hair had been done up in tight curls, and she wore a green dress that drew attention to her collarbone and breasts. James had to remind himself that regardless of the dress' intentions, he was not allowed to stare. Instead he admired her lovely shoulder blades and deep blue eyes.

Naturally they'd been seated next to each other for the meal. James would have preferred to catch up with Remus, who had been with his parents since New Year's, but Remus had been placed at the other end of the table with Sirius, Peter, and Helena.

Keeping in mind how wonderful it had felt to hold Algernon once more, James put on his best charm front for the meal. Valerie laughed at all his completely appropriate jokes in the subdued, half-hearted manner noble girls favored.

Toward the end of the meal, she leaned in and spoke quietly enough that neither of their mothers, strategically placed on both sides of them, could overhear. "Thank you for not being terribly obnoxious."

"Did you expect me to behave like a pig?" he said. "I promise that mud incident was well deserved."

"Not a pig, perhaps, but certainly not always charming."

"A dagger in my heart, my lady."

Her mouth curved into a sly smile. "The ladies I've met told me you were handsome but stubborn, and very difficult to impress."

"Such blandishments." He had to admit, she was not the most annoying noble woman he'd ever met. "You would tell me if my sleeve had food on it, wouldn't you?" he said, still speaking in a low voice.

She nodded. "Am I supposed to find sleeves that could hold five arms in them attractive?"

"Would that I knew. I can't tell where my arm is anymore. I've lost it in this sleeve. Do you happen to have a map?"

She laughed in a tinkling sort of way, a spoon chiming against a glass of water, and James missed the full, throaty laughs he'd heard Lily give.

"Have you noticed my breasts?" Valerie asked very quietly, her face revealing nothing of the nature of her question. To any distant observer, she might have been asking about the weather.

James tried to hide his shock and probably failed. He also tried not to steal a glance at her breasts. Again, he probably failed. He hoped his parents hadn't noticed.

"I'm not sure I'm allowed to answer that," he said.

"Your clothing is meant to conceal. Mine is meant to reveal. A bit unfair, I should think."

"Perhaps for you. I'm certainly not minding whoever started that fashion trend."

James looked down the table as the staff began bringing out dessert, and he locked eyes with his father. It only lasted a moment, but it was enough. George couldn't have been more pleased that James seemed to be getting along with Valerie.

Of course, this only made James want to dump wine over her head to spite him, but he wasn't that crass.

"How unfortunate that married women are expected to wear slightly higher necklines," he told her.

"I believe the principle is that once you've seen her, you shouldn't want your wife on display."

"It certainly might be, although I don't expect to tell my wife how to dress. It matters little to me."

She smiled demurely. "You become a more attractive husband by the minute."

James forced a smile and hoped it didn't look as much.

She didn't say anything nearly as interesting the rest of the night, and James only gave her half of his attention, devoting the other half toward devising ways to steal his wand back. None of his ideas would work, though, because Dumbledore was unquestionably a better wizard and James had no hope of undoing whatever enchantments were entrapping his wand.

James kissed Valerie's hand when they parted after dinner, and his mother winked at him. When Valerie wasn't looking, James gave Odette a smile that he deliberately infected with a hint of madness, and she returned his volley with an unimpressed raise of her eyebrows.

Terry not-so-subtly came to stand at James' side and escorted him back up to the tower, and James, mentally drained after a long evening attempting to be perfectly charming, gave in and let Terry undress him.

"Peter wished for me to pass on that he delivered the letter," Sirius said when Terry had left, dropping onto his bed and bouncing a little. "I said I had no knowledge of any letter but that I would tell you as much regardless. Would you care to share with your best mate just what you've been scheming?"

"Don't joke about that. I don't scheme on principle and you know it." James imitated his mother's way of looking over the rim of her glasses. "It was just a letter to Lily about missing our lesson. Nothing exciting."

"Did said letter also happen to reiterate your love?"

"No," James said sourly. "I've made that mistake once, thank you."

"Beg pardon. Perhaps I misinterpreted. Have you fallen for the fair Valerie Turpin instead?"

"She does have nice shoulders, but nice shoulders can't make up for…."

"Oh ho. Have you found the Lady Turpin lacking in faults?"

"She was fine," James admitted. "No Lily, though."

"Except for her social standing."

"Like that has any bearing over how much I fancy someone."

They were interrupted by a familiar, gentle knock at the door.

"Moony!" James said, leaping out of bed.

Remus peeked his head through the door and grinned. "Might I impose on the two of you for your company, however briefly?"

"I suppose we could be persuaded to postpone sleeping," Sirius said, in a long-suffering sort of way, but smiling at the same time.

Remus stepped through the door and James ran over to engulf him in a hug.

"Oh, dear, a hug," Remus said, in his disappointed voice. "What have you done now, James?"

James held him back at arm's length and beamed. "Loads."

* * *

"Sir."

James grunted and pulled his pillow over his head.

"_Sir_."

"I'm asleep, Terry."

"I've been instructed to bring you down to Valerie Turpin this morning, sir. Your parents have scheduled you to give her a tour of the castle."

"I'm can't give any tours. I'm asleep."

"Really, though. You need to wake up."

It only took another ten minutes of back and forth for James to actually sit up in bed, at which point he shooed Terry from the room.

He turned to Sirius' bed to apologize, but found his friend sitting in one of the armchairs already dressed.

"What are you doing up so early?" James asked.

"Unlike you, I didn't stay up until the wee hours of the morning angsting over my life choices."

"I did not angst," James muttered.

"Oh, _Remus, _I made an utter fool of myself when Peter tricked me into revealing my feelings for Lily Evans prematurely."

"My voice is not that high-pitched."

"My father is forcing me to marry a _Ravenclaw_ against my will. We'll be wed any day now. I want Algernon to be the best man."

"I would not have Algernon be my best man," James said, annoyed that Sirius had guessed something James had secretly been considering for years.

"Only because I would never allow you to replace me with a cat."

"You don't get to judge me, you of the 'I can't _bear_ my family anymore, James, they're simply _atrocious _to me, wanting me to get _married_, can't I come live with _you_' fame."

"Sir!" came Terry's muffled voice through the door.

"I'm getting dressed," James shouted.

"You really must get going," Sirius said. "Valerie Turpin awaits you."

James sank down into his pillows. "She's strange. She asked me if I was looking at her breasts, but then she said it was all right because her dress was designed for it."

"That's not that strange. So she has breasts. Most women do. Even some men do. Does that mean you should marry her?"

"Well, all things equal, I would prefer a woman with breasts."

"Set your standards a little higher, won't you? I have to live with your choice of wife, too, you know."

James made a rude gesture at Sirius, threw on an outfit his mother would approve of, and trudged down to the Entrance Hall to meet Valerie. Terry shoved a piece of toast in his hand along the way, and James managed to choke it down before they descended the grand stairwell.

Valerie arrived with her lady's maid, a tiny but fierce sprout of a girl named McKinnon, who was to act as their chaperone for the day.

James reminded himself that McKinnon was off-limits, even though she immediately struck him as more interesting than Valerie. He supposed it was all well and good that she hung back a respectable distance, clutching their cloaks in her arms – it reminded him to focus on Valerie.

He started with the main floor and gave Valerie the little history of the castle he knew. The topic he knew best—how to get out of the castle—was obviously off-limits. Instead he told her about the time a prince had been assassinated in the Great Hall, and when a long-ago king had been given the suit of armor on the fourth floor as part of a peace treaty.

They moved up through the castle floor by floor, with Valerie asking an occasional question that he had no answer to about the stonework or particular paintings on display in the long corridors. He'd been taught many things about the castles at some point in his life, but the knowledge hadn't interested him enough to stick in his brain.

They eventually found themselves on top of the tallest tower in the castle. McKinnon handed them their cloaks, winked at James, and allowed the two of them to climb the remaining steps alone.

Out in the cold, James asked Valerie to cast wind-deflecting charms, and gave a poor excuse about forgetting his wand inside his other cloak. She didn't comment, and he appreciated it.

They both moved to the edge of the tower to take in the view. Small tufts of smoke rose from Hogsmeade and drifted out over miles of densely packed, snow-capped trees. Lily immediately came to mind, but he shoved her out of his head for the moment. Instead he focused on a lone trail of smoke emerging from deep in the forest and wondered who was out there.

Valerie leaned forward to see over the parapet. "Thank you for the tour."

"Thank you for feigning a sufficient level of interest."

"It wasn't feigned." She looked back and smiled at him. "It's a beautiful castle. Very majestic."

"It is." His mouth supplied answers while his brain followed a lone rabbit hopping near the edge of the frozen lake.

"It's rather large, though, considering how few people live here most of the year."

"I've often thought the same thing."

"You'll simply have to have a whole hoard of children to fill it up."

James cleared his throat, his mind yanked back to the conversation at hand. "That thought…did not occur to me."

"You do plan on having children, though," she said, stating more than asking.

There was no point in lying, if she was willing to inquire so openly.

"Of course," he said. "More than one, yes, but a whole hoard? I can't imagine keeping up with the child version of myself, much less two or three."

"You seem like you would have been a handful."

"You have met me, right?"

She smiled at him, showing just a hint of teeth.

James nodded. "And you?"

"Yes, I should like to have several children."

She stood up straight, and James had to admire her perfect posture.

"Why haven't you chosen a wife yet?" she asked.

"Honestly, I haven't found anyone I could tolerate."

"And how do you find me?"

James considered her. She wore a maroon cloak and had her hair done up in some complicated style, looking composed and, well, noble. He did like her, more than he liked a lot of people, and she had impressed him with her apparent lack of desire to dance around sensitive topics. Truly, she wasn't the worst option.

"You seem to favor the direct approach," he said.

"I do indeed."

"Then let me ask you something." He leaned his side against the parapet. "What would you do to improve Gryffindor? If you could do anything?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, if we were married and you were queen, as our parents would love to see happen, what do you think we should do?"

She gave a small frown. "About what?"

"Everything that's wrong in Gryffindor. We're far from a perfect country."

"Oh." She turned out toward the forest. "I don't know. I should have to think about it."

"Right."

He tried not to be disappointed, he really did. Of course she wouldn't have an answer ready. Most people didn't, particularly not women who were sadly not expected to give opinions on serious issues. She wasn't different from other people in that she needed time to think.

But that was it, really. She wasn't different. Not enough to pique James' interest at anything more than a cursory level.

"Have I said something wrong?" she asked, facing James again.

"No, of course not. That's a perfectly respectable answer."

"Then I should ask you the same question. What are your plans for your reign?"

The answers that leaped to mind had all come from Lily. He knew he had more thoughts on these things, but his memory failed him – he hadn't given the topic serious thought in months.

He fobbed her off with a half-hearted response about tax rates until her eyes glazed over, at which point he suggested they move downstairs for lunch.

Lily, he knew, would have hated his answer, and would have said as much to his face.

* * *

Thoughts of Lily plagued him the rest of the day, popping up when he least expected them. This was most irksome when he was with Valerie and had to concentrate on not being too much of himself lest he scare her off.

He only allowed the thoughts to come to the forefront of his mind that night when he lay in bed. Sirius had wandered off for the evening, James had no idea where to. And to James' great annoyance, Sirius wasn't answering his mirror.

It had only been two days of confinement but James was already desperately bored and dying for the atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks. He wondered if Lily missed him. She probably missed her lesson, but he hoped she noticed his absence, at least a little.

A sharp, singular knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

James sat up. He didn't know anyone with that knock, and he considered himself a connoisseur of knocks. Sirius pounded once, if at all. Remus gently rapped at the door. Peter knocked three times, but not evenly spaced. Terry knocked so quietly that sometimes James didn't hear him at all.

The door swung inwards before he could reply and a familiar ginger-haired woman marched in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"You're in my bedroom," James said, without meaning to.

"Yes." Lily glanced around. "I am, aren't I."

"_My bedroom_."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't get an erection over it. Nothing untoward is going to happen."

James felt his face turning bright red, and she laughed at him for it, shutting the door behind herself.

"Oi," he muttered, mostly to himself.

He wasn't bothered, really. More than anything he was ecstatic that she wasn't so annoyed over what happened with Severus that she refused to seek him out, even if it was probably only for magic lessons.

"Oi yourself." She strode over to stand beside his bed. "Why didn't you tell me you'd been locked up?"

"What do you mean? I sent a letter with Peter."

She frowned. "I never received a letter."

"He said he delivered it," James said, eyebrows drawing together.

"To me?"

"He told Sirius to tell me he'd delivered it. I'll have to ask him what happened." James struggled to recall Peter's exact words when something else occurred to him. "Wait, isn't Terry outside? And how did you even get into the castle?"

She gave him a winning smile. "Your one decent friend came down to meet me and offered to escort me through some sort of secret tunnel."

"Remus! I could kiss that man."

"And your man at the door seemed all too willing to let me through once Remus explained the situation."

James didn't think of Terry as _his_ man so much as his father's, but that wasn't the more important line of questioning.

"And what situation is that?" he asked.

"We're madly in love, as it happens," she said innocently. "Don't tell me you forgot."

"Oh," said James, immediately pleased. "Yes, of course."

"And Terry refused to stand in the way of true love."

"Good man. I've always liked him."

"I will say, he's a bit overeager to please."

"Not for lack of discouragement from me, I can assure you."

"I can imagine," she said dryly.

Silence fell when James didn't know what to say next, and apparently neither did Lily.

"I admit, I'm surprised you came here, though," he said. "To my bedroom."

He really needed to stop pointing out that there was a bed in the room with them.

She flipped her hair back over her shoulder. "I wasn't going to let you tell me I'm a witch and then never speak to me again."

"That wasn't my intention."

"Now I know as much. Remus didn't mention the letter. He just said that if I wanted to see you he could sneak me in."

James hadn't thought to tell Remus about the letter – it hadn't seemed important.

"Did you really think I would abandon you?" he asked.

"Did I really think the Prince of Gryffindor would decide that teaching a barmaid how to do a few simple spells isn't worth his time?"

His hand clenched around the edge of his sheet. "That's not how I see us."

"But that's how we are."

James could see he wouldn't get far with that line of argumentation, so he said, "Unfortunately I've been stripped of my wand again for sneaking out of the castle, so we can't work on spells tonight."

"Oh." She shifted her weight. "That didn't last very long."

"My father caught me sneaking out to teach you magic and he wasn't best pleased."

"Sneaking out?"

"I, er, was not technically supposed to wander off."

"Right," she said, a little confused. "Did you at least talk to your tutor for me?"

"Er, no, not quite yet. I didn't think it would matter considering I'd been confined to my room, and I didn't know if she'd come to you on her own."

Really he had hoped to teach Lily more himself, but of course now he would have to make arrangements for McGonagall to teach Lily. He wouldn't be wanded again for quite some time, by his own estimation, and she needed to learn magic. It was her birthright.

"It's fine," she said. "I can come to you now. Or to her. Remus said she lives here, too."

"Yes, somewhere on the second floor. I can ask her if she's interested in having you snuck to her room, and then send word to you with one of my friends."

She nodded. "That would work. I can put Evan in charge two nights from now, sometime after the evening rush, if she'll have me."

"I've got a lesson with her tomorrow morning. I'll ask her then."

"Well, good." Her hands fell to her sides and she seemed suddenly nervous. "I suppose I should go, then."

"No," James said quickly. "No, er, please stay. Just for a minute? I'm wasting away from boredom."

How devastating, that had to beg her for a simple moment of her time that wasn't focused on magic.

She considered him for a moment, and he realized he was in his pajamas on his bed. With a girl. That he fancied. In his bedroom.

"All right," she finally said. "But not for long."

He slid to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over. "Let's, er, move to the armchairs."

"Yes, that's…good."

Lily went to sit down in a chair and stared into the fireplace while James grabbed his robe and wrapped it around himself. He hoped she didn't find it silly, that it was a plush red. He happened to like red, and not just because it was one of the Gryffindor colors.

Feeling infinitely more protected, he lowered himself into the other chair. He didn't point out that she'd sat in what was traditionally his chair of choice because he liked seeing her in it.

"Did Remus show you much of the castle?" he asked.

She looked up from the fire and smiled faintly. "No, we came straight up. He offered to make a detour but I was too afraid of getting caught. I still am, for that matter."

"Terry will buy us time if we need, but I doubt we will. It's too late for most of the castle inhabitants to be up and about."

Her eyes darted around the room, calmly taking in her surroundings. "I notice you have two beds in here."

"Er, yes." He pushed a hand through his hair. "Sirius sleeps in here, too."

"Oh."

She sounded surprised, not judgmental, and he appreciated that.

Still, he didn't want to admit the truth, so he used the phrase he had long relied upon to discourage other people's interest in the topic at hand. "It's a long story."

"I don't—it's not strange, I don't think." She brushed a strand of hair out of her eye. "The little I did see of the castle…how many people live here?"

"Not nearly enough. Nearly everyone lives on the fourth floor or lower, except my parents."

"And you."

"Yes."

He rubbed the back of his neck, and she looked away again.

"Do you live above the pub?" he asked.

He wished he could talk to her like he spoke to his mates, but she never responded like they did.

"Where else would I live?" she said.

She always seemed to think the worst of him.

"You forget how ill-acquainted I am with the ways outside the castle," he said, pretending she was a much prettier Sirius.

"Sorry, that was—" She let out a short breath. "Yes, I do live above the pub."

And now she was being too literal. He couldn't find the right balance with her.

"You see," James drawled, "if I lived above a pub, I should cause all sorts of scandals."

Maybe they couldn't discuss normal topics easily yet, but she'd laughed at his ridiculousness, that night they'd spent at the bar.

"Because you would be nearly constantly drunk?" she asked.

"No, because I should welcome any and all cats into the pub whenever they pleased. I should build them a door of their own so they could come and go as they please."

"They would take care of any wayward mice, I suppose."

"Precisely." He smiled, glad she'd played along. "Not to mention the increased sense of atmosphere. I should think I would receive a great many visitors curious to see a pub filled with cats, which would be itself a boon for business."

"For someone so infatuated with cats, I'm surprised you don't have one."

"Oh, I do!" James leaned forward in his seat. "His name is Algernon and he fetches me sandwiches from time to time. Unfortunately he's currently being held as a bargaining chip."

"By?"

"My parents."

The half-smile she'd been wearing disappeared. "That's rather cruel."

"Oh, I'm aware."

"What are they attempting to bargain?"

James raised his eyebrows, and grinned when she guessed immediately.

"They're that desperate?" she asked, and he loved that she seemed annoyed on his behalf.

"They'd like nothing more than to throw an extravagant wedding by the end of the week."

"It's harsh, I suppose, keeping your cat away, but I'd rather my parents were alive and cruel than dead and nothing."

James ducked his head.

"Of course," she continued, "my parents' deaths didn't result in me running the country."

"No." James picked at a stray thread on his robe. "Did they pressure you to find a husband?"

She sank back in her chair. "My mother died when I was ten, so she never had the chance, and my father…I think he should have liked to see me married. He liked pointing out all the handsome men in the village for me, but I like to think he was doing it in part because he knew I hated it and not because he was avidly concerned about my marital status. Although that's probably a strange thing to say about him."

"No, it's…." He snapped his fingers, the word on the tip of his tongue. "It's the intimacy of the gesture. He knew you."

"Yes," she said, a little taken aback. "Exactly."

"Whereas my parents only do these things to me because of my marital status."

Ever since he'd turned sixteen they'd been on his case. He remembered being closer to his mother, when he was younger, but she'd become single-minded in recent years and he couldn't bear to be around her for too long. She had a compulsive habit of bringing up his bachelorhood.

"I'm sure they want you to be happy," Lily said.

"My life affords me many luxuries," he said with a rueful smile. "The pursuit of personal happiness isn't one of them, in their eyes."

"Then why did you think barging into my pub and declaring your feelings for me would be a good idea? Obviously that was for you, not them. It wasn't like you were going to propose to me."

James tried to hide his guilty expression, but he wasn't quick enough.

"You were _not_ going to propose," she said flatly.

"Well…not then and there, no. That would've been ridiculous."

He didn't think it bore explaining that he'd intended to abdicate in the process. She didn't need to know he was considering that as an option.

"You lunatic." She laughed through her smile. "You can't marry me."

"Why, are you going to marry McNamee?"

"I'm not—Mary told you he fancies me, I assume?"

"She said something to that effect, yes."

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's her private joke. He's got his eye on someone else."

"Oh."

"And anyway, I'm not planning to get married," she said. "If I get married, I lose a lot of standing. I won't be able to keep my own finances and all my money goes right into my husband's pocket."

"I suppose so," he said uncertainly.

Which was another thing James wished he could fix. It didn't seem fair that Lily would lose all rights to the money she had rightfully earned.

"And knowing me," she said, "does that sound particularly appealing?"

"Not at all," James admitted.

"And there you have it."

It occurred to him that perhaps she would be interested in marrying him as the prince, if only for the benefits it would bring her.

"That's why you should marry me," he said lightly. "Then finances wouldn't be a problem. If anyone impinges on your rights, off with their heads."

She laughed. "I wouldn't know how to be queen. For one, your lot have all sorts of silly rules about every little thing."

"Oh, anyone can learn those." He waved a dismissive hand. "They're dead annoying, I admit, but completely within your grasp. You're certainly sharp enough to pick them up."

"Not to mention I don't know how to run a country or even throw a good soiree."

"But you're fair and honest and good," James said. "You're not afraid to delegate or take charge and you take responsibility for your mistakes. You genuinely care about people. Why shouldn't you be queen?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth curving into a triumphant smile. "This is all ridiculous anyway because I don't want to be queen."

She _would_ make an excellent queen, now that he'd laid out all the evidence. He'd suspected before, but now it became even more apparent. She was an ideal companion. He'd had it in his mind to abdicate and run off with her already, but getting her to marry him as the prince would be an even better solution to his situation. She could be queen and do whatever she wanted, and he could muddle along, and his parents wouldn't hate him and he wouldn't feel like he was abandoning his post.

Besides, he and Lily would have fun together, of that much he was sure. His feelings were already out in the open. She didn't return them, but that was fine. If he didn't marry her, he'd still be in a loveless marriage, just with someone less capable at his side.

James leaned forward, his palms on his knees. "Marry me anyway."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are you actually proposing?

"Why not?"

Her smile faltered.

"You're in your pajamas," she said, her laugh falling somewhere between confusion and amusement, her hands dropping into her lap.

"Who cares what I'm wearing?" He grinned. "You can be queen and run everything and I won't have to."

"You certainly know how to woo a girl, offering her the burden of running an entire country while you laze about."

"But you're allowed to do whatever you want when you're queen," he pointed out. "You know, right all the wrongs, imprison your enemies, make your friends lords."

"You can try to seduce me with power all you want," she said, "but you're still not allowed to marry a common woman like me."

"Technically speaking it's been more of a ban on marrying non-magical girls. You qualify as far as I'm concerned, and since I'm going to be the king, my word is almost law."

"Pardon me for not believing the country would accept a barmaid for a queen."

"I reiterate: we're not Hufflepuff. What the people want is technically irrelevant."

"First a premature declaration of love, and now a premature marriage proposal." She smirked. "How do I know you wouldn't be so premature elsewhere in the relationship?"

He ignored her jab. Unlike his declaration in the pub, asking her to marry him felt right. It calmed him, a soothing drug winding through his blood, loosening muscles and helping him breathe easier.

"For the record," he said, holding up a finger, "I didn't say I loved you. I said I fancied you, which is true. And from what Mary says, you fancy me a bit, too."

She didn't answer as quickly as she had before, and James caught a glimpse of surprise on her face.

His heart rate ticked up a notch. He hadn't been sure Mary hadn't been taking the mickey, and to have it confirmed from Lily herself….

"I wasn't aware that was relevant to this conversation," she said, composed once more.

"So you don't deny it?"

"I suppose might be a little—a _little —_infatuated with you at the moment," she conceded, "but don't mistake that for some grand and persistent love affair."

He didn't really hear much of what she said past the part where she admitted she fancied him. Even if it was just a sliver of infatuation, it still sent his mind whirling with possibilities. If she really did fancy him, even a little, even after he'd been such an idiot, there was hope.

"You fancy me, I fancy you," he said, his blood pounding, "you know better than I how to run something, I'm willing to let you do whatever you want. I'm not sure I've met a person better suited to marry me, honestly."

"Have you been taking flirting lessons from Peter again?"

"You don't have to answer right now," James said. "Just know that the offer stands."

"Your proposal can sit, stand, or lay in bed for all I care," she said, standing up and shaking out her cloak.

He watched her throw it on—her cloak had been repaired in several places, and he wondered if she'd let him buy her a new one—and followed her to the door.

"So long as you know it's there," he said. "I'll send word about your lessons. If McGonagall says no, don't expect to see me at the pub anytime soon. And if she says yes, don't expect to see me at the pub anytime soon."

"I'll tell Mary you've been kidnapped by bandits."

"That's really not far off from the truth."

She glanced back at his bedroom and smiled to herself. "Good night, James."

"Good night. Stop by after your next lesson?"

"I suppose. If only to keep you from wasting away from boredom."

"That's all I ask," he said solemnly.

He opened the door for her and lingered after she stepped through, watching her disappear down the stairs after a brief farewell to Terry.

He leaned against the wall and sighed.

"Is everything all right, sir?" Terry asked.

"Hm? Yes, fine, thank you."

Terry wrung his hands together. "Should I not have permitted her to enter?"

"Always let her through. That is, if you don't object."

"Of course I don't object, sir." Terry frowned. "I'm only glad she's coming here now. It's much safer."

"Safer than where?"

"Than wherever you typically run off to meet."

James blinked. "You knew I was sneaking out?"

"Of course, sir."

It was a miracle James hadn't been caught earlier, actually. He hadn't thought that Terry might have some idea of where he'd gone, or that he would keep James' secrets.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" James said, and immediately regretted it when Terry's faint smile wilted. James rushed to add, "I mean, I know you care for me, but my safety…."

Which wasn't the issue at all, but somehow he'd upset Terry, and even though he didn't care much for him, James didn't want to be pointlessly mean.

"I'm _your_ valet, sir."

James opened his mouth, and then closed it.

"Forgive me," James said. "Sometimes I forget."

"No forgiveness needed, sir. I'm simply doing my job."

James wished he could say the same.

* * *

He tried to listen during his magic lesson the next morning for Lily's sake —given his lack of wand, McGonagall covered theory—but he'd long ago learned how futile it was for his brain to hold onto any sort of higher theory discussion. Actual spells he could pick up with ease, but theory always put him to sleep. McGonagall dismissed him early and called him hopeless.

Her study resembled Dumbledore's more than George's, impeccably neat and somehow more organized than Dumbledore's. Small though it was, she'd managed to squeeze every inch of space out of the bookshelves. Some tidy rooms seemed sterile, but whether it was the roaring fire she always had going or the northern Gryffindor patterns she'd covered her furniture in, it had always struck James as welcoming, and familiar.

James grabbed his book off her narrow desk. "Professor," he said cautiously.

"Do not ask me to explain the third law of Conjugation again," she said, organizing the papers on her desk. "I've covered it five times already this month."

"No, it's not that, promise. It's just…before I tell you, I need you to swear you won't tell anyone else what I'm going to say."

She paused to look at him over the rims of her glasses. "Have I not kept your career ambitions of becoming a frog hidden from the castle gossips?"

It had been years since he'd said that in a petulant fit, but he still felt his cheeks heat up at the memory.

"Yes," he said, "and thanks for that. Only, this isn't my secret, not fully."

He tried to think of how to explain that he'd met some random girl with magic and that he fancied her. Except McGonagall didn't really need to know about the latter part, now that he gave it a moment of thought.

"Well, out with it," she said.

"There's a girl," he started.

She stopped putting away her diagrams and gave him a resigned look. "And with that, Mr. Potter, you've condensed the entirety of human history to one sentence."

He shoved his hand into his hair and let it hang there, gripping on tightly. "She's the barmaid at The Three Broomsticks—more than that, really, she runs the place—and she's, well, a witch."

"And?"

He wrenched his hand out of his hair. "She's not noble, not that she knows, anyhow. She didn't even know what her magic was until I told her."

"Dare I inquire as to how you came across this young woman? Or discovered her abilities?"

"Er, you'd best not inquire, no. But in case she ever tells you how we discovered them, you should know up front that what happened was entirely Peter's idea."

McGonagall never grinned, not that James had seen, nor was she one for broad smiles. Instead the corners of her usually tight lips turned up, just at the edges, and her eyes softened.

This time, though, she let out a sharp, singular laugh.

Watching her laugh at him was too much to bear, so he pretended to reread the spine of his book before looking up at her again.

"I was planning to teach her magic myself," he said, "but I'm not as good as you, obviously, and I don't know the answers to her questions, and now I'm confined to my room without a wand most of the time, so…."

"Is this your indirect method of requesting that I tutor her in magic?"

"Er, yes. She can come to you and everything, but only at night. And only some nights. So I hope you can because it's not fair she doesn't know anything and I can't help her anymore."

She didn't answer right away, instead focusing on straightening her papers into a perfectly neat stack, while James shifted his weight from foot to foot, wishing he knew what to say to convince her.

"I admit to some degree of curiosity." She clutched her papers with one hand and moved toward the door. "I assume you can send word to her using your unnamed methods of communication?"

"Yes," James said. There was nothing more he could say without revealing the tunnels.

"Then have her meet me in the Room of Requirement tomorrow night at eleven o'clock." She grasped the door handle with her free hand. "Should I assume your methods of disobeying your father do not stretch to escaping your room undetected, and that she and I shall have the lesson to ourselves?"

"Er, no, I haven't found a way to do that. Not yet, anyway. I'll have her meet you then." He turned to leave through the door she'd opened, but then remembered to tell her, "Thank you. Really."

"Oh, Potter," McGonagall said, "if she's caught your eye, I'm certain to have an entertaining evening."

* * *

"So I may have proposed to Lily last night," James said during his turn of Exploding Snap.

He would have preferred Polish Pirate Poker, naturally, but his lack of wand prevented it.

The afternoon light streamed in through his bedroom window and onto the rug where James and his friends sat – James and Remus cross-legged, Peter leaning against the chair behind him with his legs stuck straight out in front of him, and Sirius lying on the floor with his knees propped up.

"What?" said Peter, eyes going wide.

"That escalated quickly," said Sirius mildly.

"James," Remus scolded.

"I know," said James. "It was probably really stupid."

"How long have you known her, precisely?" Remus asked.

"Er, what, less than two weeks?" James asked Peter, who nodded.

"James," Remus said.

"I know. I do, all right? Except…I don't regret it."

Remus gently lay down his hand of cards on the ground, face down, and swiveled to face James. "I shouldn't have to lay out for you why proposing to a woman you've known for two weeks is a poor idea. You've more sense than that."

"Admittedly I shouldn't propose to women I barely know, but Lily—I don't know everything about her, but she's perfect."

Remus raised his eyebrows at James.

"Not personality perfect, but that she's perfect to be queen."

Peter furrowed his brow. "The barmaid at The Three Broomsticks?"

"I don't know why you're all against this," James said. "Remus, you're the one that brought her to my bedroom last night, and, Peter, you told me to tell her how I felt in the first place."

Remus sighed. "I did that to allow you to organize lessons, and because you seemed to like her, not so you would ask her to marry you."

"And I specifically said not to propose," Peter said.

"Well, I did both."

"How did she take the proposal?" Sirius asked, moving a card to the other end of his hand with purpose.

James rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "Not…well."

"Stunning, really," Sirius said.

"Shove off. She needs time to think, I know, but I'd pick her over Valerie Turpin or any other noble girl in a heartbeat."

"And why is that?" Remus asked.

"Because she's clever, and funny, and beautiful, and she makes me feel…."

"Kingly?" Peter said.

"Not at all. But that's just it, though. I don't feel like the prince around her."

Peter's pale eyebrows drew together. "How is that supposed to make her a good match for you?"

"Because…because she makes me feel like an utter fool sometimes, and she, I dunno, expects more from me. I have to try harder around her," James said. "With Valerie, or those other girls, I don't have to try at all. They'd marry me in a heartbeat, and they think…well, they think that I'm the prince and therefore I must have good judgment, and they're not in a position to question me."

"And you don't believe you have good judgment?" Remus said.

"As evidenced by eighteen years of being myself, no, I rather don't."

Remus gave him an assessing, approving gaze. "Prince James, where on earth did you come from."

James frowned. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Remus picked up his hand and lay down a card on the pile in the middle of their circle. "Lily struck me as a very capable woman. I can understand why you felt the need to propose, but how would you convince your parents to allow you to marry her?"

"I'm the prince. I wasn't aware anyone needed to approve of my marriage besides a member of the clergy."

"I suppose," Remus said slowly.

"In any case, she's got lessons planned with McGonagall and I'll see her after them, so I can keep working on her."

"She's not a puzzle to be solved, James."

"No, I know. That wasn't well put. But I need…she doesn't see it in herself, but it's there. She could be queen, if she wanted, and a damn good one."

"She doesn't know anything about being a queen, though," Peter said. "She probably has terrible table manners."

"That's not—" James stopped and sighed. He could go on about Lily and her personal merits, but he didn't think Peter would understand. Peter tended to be more traditional than James, and James knew he wouldn't persuade Peter otherwise in one night. "Instinct, I suppose," he said. "Your turn, Peter. By the way, Lily never got the letter I sent with you. Didn't you say you gave it to her?"

"No," Peter said, drawing out the word and looking far too guilty as he played a card. "I said I'd delivered it. I went around to the alley, like you suggested, and there was a man coming out of the door. He asked what I was doing and I, er, panicked. I said I had a message for Lily and he said he would bring it to her."

James sighed. "What did the man look like?"

"I suppose…tallish. Black hair?"

"And a huge nose?"

"Yes, that's the bloke," Peter said. "I take it you know him?"

"Oh, do I," James said tartly.

Peter apologized profusely and James waved it off. They hadn't told Peter about Severus, after all – Peter wouldn't have known to mistrust him.

This time he gave Peter instructions to go to verbally deliver the message about Lily's lesson.

"Her and no one else," James said. "Not even Mary, all right?"

Peter bit his lip. "Yes. Sorry."

"No harm done. Remus stepped up, and ta for that, you magnificent bastard."

Remus gave James a mocking salute. "And I'll bring her back again if you stop proposing."

"Moony," James said, "don't ask for promises I can't keep."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

He spent two more days in Valerie's perfectly acceptable but not particularly exciting company, and getting entertained by his friends in his room. Given there were only so many topics to cover without a wand, his lessons with McGonagall had slowed down. And his father hadn't invited him to another judicial hearing since the murder one, which George kept putting off to focus on "other matters." James didn't know what those matters were and he had no interest in asking, but he wished his father would hurry up so the poor man on trial wouldn't have to wait any longer.

The night of Lily's first lesson, James shooed his mates out of his room, promising a grouchy Sirius that he could return once Lily had left.

She burst through James' door near midnight, positively beaming, and James had never seen her look more beautiful. Not because she was wearing unusual clothes, or had styled her hair in any special way, but because she simply looked radiant with that smile.

"I'd ask how it went," he said, finding Lily's smile too infectious not to copy, "but that seems a rather pointless question."

She dropped into the leather chair opposite him—he'd left his personal chair deliberately vacant for her—and let out a deep, pleased breath, folding her cloak over her lap.

"There's so much to learn," she said, leaning forward in her seat. "Professor McGonagall knew the answers to nearly everything I asked, and she said I was a very apt pupil, and that she looked forward to having me back, and—oh, it was wonderful. She said I can come back in three nights for another lesson."

"McGonagall is a good teacher," James said. He would've said anything to keep her in high spirits.

"She really is. She has high expectations, I think, but that's good. It's better than the alternative."

He had her recount the lesson with McGonagall in detail, more so he could watch her excitement than because he actually cared about the nuances of the spells. She exuded an air of vibrancy when she got excited that hit James like sunlight.

"I'm sorry, I've been rambling about things you already know," Lily said apologetically. "Are you well?"

He shrugged. "I'm as well as a prisoner can be expected to feel."

"There are many worse off people than you, the prince cooped up in a luxurious castle."

"Yes, but I'm bored. Boredom might be one of the most agonizing punishments imaginable. In fact, I'll have to use it against my enemies when I'm king. I'll lock them in a room with a bed and food and everything but give them absolutely nothing to do."

She scoffed. "You do not actually do nothing all day."

"It's a near thing."

She seemed disappointed in his answer.

"It's an imposed luxury which makes it less luxurious," he added.

"You could be _doing_ something," she said, moving forward in her seat.

"Such as?"

"Anything. Anything at all. Learning about magic or languages or…something that princes do. I wouldn't know."

James sank back in his chair. "Well, this prince isn't particularly motivated."

"So I'm learning."

He didn't really know what she expected him to do. He'd had plenty of lessons in his lifetime, formal and informal, and now he was educated but powerless. She didn't understand how restricted his life was.

But he also didn't want to argue.

"Before I forget," he said, thankful he had an excuse to change topics, "Peter gave Severus the letter I sent to you."

She frowned. "Why did Peter give it to Severus?"

"Peter says he went up to the alley door, but some dark-haired bloke with a big nose made him turn it over and said he'd deliver it to you."

"It could have been someone else."

He almost wished he hadn't brought it up when he saw the wary look on her face. But she had a right to know what her supposed friend had done.

"Did Severus visit you, though? Who else would be coming out of the back door?"

"He did visit me to apologize for his behavior, but if he'd got a letter, he would've given it to me."

James desperately wanted to ask if she'd forgiven Severus, and what she'd told him, and whether Severus had seen the book covers, but he doubted she would answer with anything but sarcasm.

"Even if Peter said it was a message from James?" James said instead.

She dropped her gaze.

"You know he hates me," James said, "and I'll fully concede that he's got his reasons."

"I can't believe he would keep my messages from me, though." She didn't seem to doubt James, which left him wondering if she wasn't just defending on principle. At least that was a sentiment he could understand. "We're friends."

"Well, either Peter lied or Snape didn't deliver the letter. In all honesty, which seems more plausible?"

She sighed. "I know, but…I expected better from him."

He tried to ignore the sudden sinking feeling in his gut. She had such faith in a man that had been so spiteful to her over nothing.

"Sometimes I feel like you see the best in everyone but me," he said, before he could stop himself.

She smiled a little, like she thought he was joking and was going along with it. "I've seen too much of you to make that mistake."

That stung more than James cared to admit, even though she passed it off as a casual comment and not a malicious indictment of his character. He hoped his face hadn't betrayed as much.

"What do you know about Severus, anyway?" he said, trying to school his face into a neutral expression. "What does he do for a living?"

"I've known him for years, James. He's not some shady character – he's an apprentice at the apothecary, and a very talented one, at that."

A niggling thought blossomed in James' mind: first the conjured image of Severus in the apothecary, and then a faded memory of a large-nosed boy hunched over a book, sitting with his back against a tree trunk.

"I saw him reading a Potions book," James said, furrowing his brow. "A few years ago. We were wandering down by the sawmill and I saw him reading some book I'd read, only he didn't look like a noble so we asked him where he'd got it and he said his mother."

Lily looked at him curiously. "You remember."

"Just now," he said absently. He closed his eyes and focused on filling in the blanks. "We said something and then we argued….over something, I don't remember. I think Sirius accused him of stealing it?"

"His mother might have found it in a bookshop."

James shook his head and kept his eyes squeezed shut. "No, no, he knew about magic, I remember that much."

"Severus is a wizard," Lily said flatly.

"We ended up drawing wands on each other and—oh. Right." He opened his eyes and blinked. He remembered what he'd done to Severus, just enough to feel his cheeks heat up at the memory.

"What?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I did something I'm rather ashamed of, now."

"And then you left him," she filled in, "and I found him."

"And I apparently looked back and laughed." James frowned. "That was quite poorly done, on my part."

Lily crossed her arms over her chest. "So that's it, then. My best friend is a wizard and I'm a witch and we've been missing it these past few years."

James felt compelled to explain Severus' actions as a fellow wizard, if not as a person.

"Severus wouldn't bring it up unless he knew you were a witch, and if you've been hiding your magic…. It's not generally safe to spread it around."

"Still. I always thought there was something he didn't want to tell me, and now I know." Her cheer from her lesson had drained away.

"I wonder, though, where it came from in him," James said, mostly to himself. "He must be noble somewhere in his family if he had that book."

He wouldn't curse and taunt Severus the way he had when he was fifteen, but he still wanted to find out whether there were in fact two magical anomalies in one village.

Lily shook her head, and a strand of hair fell down from her bun. "He's not, though. He must be like me, an anomaly."

"Where is he from? Which families?"

"Well, his surname is Snape, if that's what you're after."

"That's certainly not Gryffindor noble. From the sound of it his mother must have been a witch, at least. What was her name?"

"I've never asked." She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, Gryffindor noble?"

"Well, he could be from Slytherin for all we know."

"He's not," she said tersely.

James had meant it as a throwaway comment, but now that it was out in the open, he realized it could be true.

"How would you know? I mean, how long have you known him? Only a few years, I imagine."

"It's possible he's from Slytherin," she allowed, "but he said he was from Gryffindor and I believe him. He doesn't sound like a Slytherin."

"He might've moved at some point. Accents aren't immutable."

"But I know he isn't from Slytherin because he wouldn't lie to me."

"He lied to Peter, and to you by omission about the letter. Not to mention he's been concealing his magical abilities."

Her mouth curved into a resigned smile. "What does it matter where he's from? He lives in Gryffindor now and that's that."

James, of course, was concerned about potential spies, but Lily didn't know about them. Although….

"You said if you could reduce the number of castles," he said, "you'd increase the military presence on the Slytherin border. If it doesn't matter where he's from, why do you care about the border?"

"I don't trust Slytherins. No one does, in these parts. They came across the border more when I was younger, but I'm glad they don't now. They used to cause all sorts of fights in the pub, stupid traders who would cheat Gryffindors for the fun of it."

He leaned forward in his seat. "What about in Manchester?"

"No one gives one whit about Slytherin down there, but how is that relevant?"

"Er, official business," James said. "Only we're concerned about Slytherin, too, and I don't—I don't want him to hurt you."

"Severus would never hurt me."

"Probably not. I'm just…I don't trust Slytherins either."

"I trust Severus and I don't think he's a Slytherin. And even if he were, obviously he's one of the few decent ones."

James could have argued about Severus' decency, but it seemed rather pointless. He wouldn't persuade her.

"You know," she added, "both nights I've visited you, you've said some things that any other girl might take as offensive. Proposing out of the blue and then accusing my best friend of being a Slytherin."

"Sorry," James said. "I'm—me."

She snorted. "In a word."

"I don't mean to do it, I swear. Both the proposal and this thing with Snape came up organically."

"You're not going to propose again, are you?"

"Thank you for reminding me," he said, keeping his tone light. "Yes, I am. Marry me?"

"You're incorrigible."

"I'm also serious."

"Shame I don't fancy being queen, then."

"Shame I don't fancy being king."

She raised an eyebrow. "Liar."

James didn't want to start another sensitive conversation, which was what he suspected that topic would devolve into. "Admittedly so, on this."

She sat up straighter and cocked her head. "Liar," she said, as if she didn't quite believe it herself.

"It's not something I really want to discuss at the moment. Tell me about the pub instead, please. I yearn for your barstools and Mary's brother's ale."

She looked at him, considering, and he deliberately kept his expression as one of intense interest.

"Well," she finally said, "Peter came in with a woman the other night."

James grimaced. "Helena Hodge."

She let out a loud laugh. "It's amazing, but that's the exact face I made when I told Mary about Helena."

"She's...fond of Peter," James offered.

"A strong endorsement."

Peter loved Helena, but James had always found her manipulative and completely off-putting. James had quickly learned how to avoid her company, and Peter had given up on inviting her to anything with his mates.

"Unless you'd like me to rant about it for about half an hour," James said, "then that's about where I cut myself off."

"I don't blame you. Together, she and Peter…." She paused. "Mary was seeing this bloke last year—he was so weak, always letting Mary decide everything. I can't stand spineless people."

"Completely agree. I hate when Peter lets her boss him around, but he doesn't mind, so I try not to say anything."

"I mean, Peter seemed nice enough," she added. "He's just not…."

James leaned toward her. "Am I awful for saying I know exactly what you mean?"

"Probably."

"I'll say it anyway."

"Well, you have to," she said, laughing a little. "You've already done it."

"Yes. But officially. On record. Your record, anyway. Don't tell him I said that, please."

"I won't," she assured him. "Then I'd have to admit I brought it up."

"You wouldn't have to."

"Yes," she said firmly, "I would."

He grinned. She would feel compelled to do that. That was just the sort of person she was.

"Teach me something fun," she said, leaning sideways against the armrest. "A spell. I could do with something silly in my life."

"I don't have a wand, I might remind you."

"It doesn't matter. I can practice it later."

He wasn't sure McGonagall would approve of his lesson, but then again, she hadn't seemed very fond of Isobel Marks either.

"All right." He raised his hand to hold an invisible wand. "If you should ever dislike someone enough to want to cover their room in mud—"

"I'm certain this has never happened to you."

"Of course not. I love everyone and everyone loves me."

"Liar," she said through a grin. "You just said you don't love Helena Hodge."

"It's probably too harsh if I say she barely qualifies as a person, isn't it?"

"Probably. But I'm not one to judge."

"Brilliant. Now, the wand movement looks a bit like you're drawing a cow…."

* * *

James bounded down to McGonagall's study in the morning, quickly enough that Terry had to jog to keep up with him.

"Thank you for teaching Lily," James said to her when she opened the door.

McGonagall stepped aside to let him in. "She's quite the vivacious young woman."

"In a word."

She shut the door behind him and quirked her lips. "I'm certain you've many more words you could recite about her."

James grinned. "Oh, I could go on at length."

"I admit, I didn't have the highest of expectations, but she far surpassed them."

He moved to stand in front of her desk while she circled around to settle into her chair.

"Defying expectations seems to be her hobby," James said. "Although I wish I understood how she can have magic. Not that it's a bad thing, just…I never thought about other people having magic."

"I confess," McGonagall said, "I've not dedicated much of my life to understanding how we came to have magic."

"I mean, there's no reason she couldn't have it without her parents having it, right? We had to get it somewhere, too."

She gave him a level gaze. "Your father would suggest God granted it to us."

"He would," James said, keeping his voice neutral. He didn't want to speak against his father without knowing what McGonagall thought.

"But perhaps God has decided Lily Evans is equally entitled to magic," she said, and James relaxed. "She has the fortitude and dedication to become a great witch, should she so desire."

"She's more dedicated than I am."

"Yes," McGonagall said pointedly. "She is."

He dropped down into the seat across the desk from her. Unlike his father, she'd had the decency to pad it, even if it was firmly packed and wrapped in tartan.

"Oi," he said, "I still know more than her."

"But perhaps not for long," she said with a small smile.

James had to concede the point, and he was surprised that this didn't bother him. "She'll learn faster if we can get her a wand of her own."

McGonagall nodded toward a pile of parchment on the edge of her desk. "I've already begun letters requesting a private wand-fitting. She will have to come to the castle during the day, I'm afraid, and wear something suitable if we are to pass her off as a foreign noble."

James smiled, pleased that McGonagall had seen the same potential in Lily that he had. "I'm sure she can feign an accent."

"She will have at least a month to practice before anyone would even consider arriving."

"Can you put my name on it? Would that help speed up the process?"

She gave him a fond look. If he'd known the way to win over McGonagall was to fall for a girl, he would've made up a story about it ages ago.

"Only if you wish to arouse suspicion," she said.

"Ah. Right." James let out a deep breath. "Well, she'll have to wait, then."

"She's waited eighteen years," McGonagall said gently. "I'm sure she can wait another month."

* * *

"We've discovered another spy in Hogsmeade," Dumbledore said. He sat next to James in front of George's desk, his beard on the frazzled side.

"Where?" James asked.

"In Gladrags, after they'd closed," George said. "Merlin knows what he was doing there."

"Maybe his socks needed mending," James offered. "Gladrags does have an excellent reputation."

George shot him an unamused look. "The guard who discovered him found no indication of theft, but he did uncover Voldemort's mark on the man's arm."

"The guards know about that?"

"Of course they do," George said dismissively. "How else are we to find more of them?"

James sank back in his chair and wished he could leave. "Right."

"The Ravenclaw envoy is not sold that the spies have any truly malicious intent," George reminded James. "He believes that if the marked persons are from Slytherin, it is still a fact-finding mission, and therefore they are not an immediate threat."

"But they're violating our borders."

"While this is true, we don't start wars on the basis of a few border incidents."

James did not care for the trace of condescension in George's tone, and he brought the conversation back to the point he knew would demonstrate his father's weakness. "Then what are we going to do?"

"There are spells," Dumbledore said, "that may be useful in such a situation. Listening spells attached to animals or insects – my staff have had positive results to date in our experiments."

George raised his eyebrows. "And have Slytherin offer up a basis for claiming to be the wronged party?"

"We have already established their prior illegal activity with both Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff."

"And they are not convinced that this is a matter that requires action. A simple break-in to a shop will not persuade them otherwise."

Dumbledore leaned forward and took on a more serious tone. "Rumors have reached me, George, of a desire for iron and steel in Slytherin. Our guards confirm that these items have begun to move en masse into Slytherin across our borders."

George spoke calmly, and without hesitation. "Then we can impose a trade restriction."

"I am afraid that will only encourage smuggling." Dumbledore argued the way he always did, as if they were discussing favorite jam flavors. "The border is vast and mountainous, and we cannot watch over every inch of it."

"But it would make it more challenging. They would be forced onto poorer quality roads that can't take large shipments, and we can set up checkpoints at the main river crossings."

"I believe you are underestimating the human capacity for greed," Dumbledore said mildly. "Slytherin will find a way, most likely magical, to obtain the resources they desire. Not to mention that the merchants of Gryffindor, and of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, will see this as an attack on their business. They do not see this as a matter of security."

"And we can't tell them why we're doing it," James added, suddenly inspired. "The people in the south especially won't understand. They don't think of Slytherin as an enemy."

"I agree that we must do something," George said, "but I am unconvinced that we have found a suitable course of action."

James looked back and forth between Dumbledore and George, who both had their gaze fixed on the other.

"I'll consider the trade restriction for now, but no more," George said.

"I understand perfectly." Dumbledore rose, adjusting his spectacles. "Advise me when you would have me take action."

James stood up, too, before his father could ask for his written opinion on the murder hearing, and followed Dumbledore out into the corridor.

He was glad he'd been able to add something to the conversation, but by and large debating the impacts of various diplomatic moves was not his area of expertise. He'd much rather sneak into Slytherin himself and figure out what was going on, rather than sitting around in a room and guessing.

"More of nothing," James muttered. "And a trade restriction. Does he think Slytherin won't notice?"

"Unlike sending reconnaissance forces, we are free to change our trade policies at will."

James pressed his lips together.

"Do I detect a hint of frustration?" Dumbledore asked.

"Hint? More like swaths."

"He is a cautious man," Dumbledore said simply. At James' scowl, he added, "But perhaps too cautious, in this instance."

"I'm glad we can agree, but that doesn't mean much in the grand scheme of things."

"A valid point, indeed. Still, things have not escalated to dire straits yet."

"No," James said, feeling a little hollow. "Not yet."

* * *

His mother had suggested taking Valerie for a stroll through the woods, along the stretch inside the castle wall. James had leapt at the opportunity to step outdoors, even if it was under such forced circumstances.

He narrowed his eyes against the rays of sun bouncing off wide drifts of snow, Valerie trekking along at his side. Their feet barely broke the thin frozen crust on top of the snow, thanks to a charm from McKinnon, but it was still enough work to move through the forest that beads of sweat froze on James' brow.

"This had better be worth it," Valerie said. Her cheeks had gone a delicate pink.

"It will be," James assured her.

He pressed on for a few more minutes, cold air seeping in through a hole in his hat.

He only came to a halt when he found a spot he liked, a low hollow in the ground decorated by a web of animal tracks. Valerie stopped beside him, taking in their surroundings and catching her breath. A weighted down pine branch to his right gave up the battle and bent with a crack, releasing a cascade of snow onto the ground in a quiet clap of thunder.

He sucked in an enormous breath, his lungs burning with the sudden influx of freezing air, and exhaled, his breath emerging in a miniature cloud.

Besides their breathing, only the chirping birds and the rough noises of bare tree branches scraping against each other in the wind disturbed them.

"It's so peaceful," Valerie said quietly.

James smiled at her. It was difficult not to, in this serene grotto.

"Thank you for bringing me here," she added.

"I don't suppose you wander around forests much."

She gave him a knowing sort of look. "And you do?"

"Of course not," James said loftily. "A prince does not wander around forests unprotected."

"Then what is he doing at the moment?"

"This is different." He squinted off into the distant mountains, wondering if a speck he saw in the sky was a hawk. "People know where we are, and I imagine McKinnon isn't too far behind."

"Her legs are very short," she offered by way of apology.

James suspected Valerie had asked her lady's maid to fall behind, but he didn't see the point in saying as much.

"So," Valerie said, her voice coy, "we'd better make the most of the time we have, then."

James turned to find her only inches from his side, and nearly fell backwards trying to step away.

"Er," he said.

She stepped forward to match his step back, like they were dancing, and slid a bare hand up to James' cheek—and where had her mitten gone, he wondered—her fingers chilly against his flushed skin.

"You do like that forthright sort of woman, don't you?" she said.

"Typically," he said, surprised that his voice came out as breathy as it did.

"I suppose that's where other women have failed you."

She delicately moved her thumb along his cheek, brushing over the corner of his mouth, and James' moment of paralysis snapped.

He jerked his head away from her, and she lowered her hand to rest her palm against his still-heaving chest. She was close enough that the warm cloud from her breath rolled over his face.

He'd had women pursue him before, but not so directly or with such self-assurance. Most women backed off at a sign of dislike, but not Valerie, apparently.

"You're more of a gentleman than I expected," she said.

"I like you," he said without thinking, "but I'm not entirely sure I like you, well, that much."

"What would it take to convince you?"

"I would tell you if I knew," he lied.

Lily would have called him a liar. Valerie only responded with an assessing gaze. She was genuinely curious, but confident, and he supposed she had no reason to think he wouldn't eventually propose to her. From her perspective things were proceeding apace in their relationship.

If he'd never met Lily, Valerie would have been the ideal woman for a man in his situation. She was attractive, polite, intelligent, and ambitious in her own way. She didn't cower in front of him, although he suspected if he pressed she would relent.

Lily would never relent to James, not without pushing back.

"Is your virtue intact, my lady?" McKinnon shouted from behind them.

"Entirely," Valerie said, the moment broken. She turned her head to look over her shoulder and pulled her hand away from James. "And much to my chagrin, I might add."

James forced a laugh but silently thanked Merlin for McKinnon.

Valerie was an option, and a good one at that, but James knew he still had a better alternative.

* * *

"What's happening at The Three Broomsticks these days?" James asked Lily one night. "I demand tales of the outside world. All I hear about is boring prince business."

Lily crossed one leg over the other. James loved how she looked in his chair, determined and pleased as she usually did after her lessons with McGonagall.

"Well," she said, "Mr. Fenwick asked where you'd run off to."

"The bloke from the haberdashery?"

"That's the one."

"Oh." James smiled in surprise. "Well, I hope you made up something appropriate about my whereabouts."

"I told him your father decided to log somewhere further south."

"Perfect. You're amazing."

"Only most days," she said lightly.

He laughed. "You were so quick to judge me for my hubris, and yet."

"Well, it's different if you're actually capable and proud of it."

James gave a faint nod. "Fair point. You do seem to manage the pub well enough."

"I get by," she said, but the corners of her mouth turned up enough for James to notice.

And it was fine that she was proud of herself. She worked hard and deserved to receive some praise for her accomplishments. He didn't know if anyone else ever told her how magnificent she was.

"People love that pub," he said. "They love you."

"This is true." Her mouth curved into a mischievous smile. "Half of the old women in the village have tried to set me up with their sons."

"And you told them your heart was taken by a dark-haired man, I assume."

"I told them I wasn't interested," she corrected.

"Not liar."

Her eyebrows drew together, but her smile didn't fade.

"You've called me a liar before," he said. "But I didn't know what to call you for not lying besides 'Not liar.' 'Truth-teller' doesn't have the same ring as 'liar.' There's just not a good, succinct word for it."

She considered this and nodded. "There is a certain elegance to calling someone a liar."

"I love the word, although not always the meaning."

"You lie with alarming frequency."

"I'm not the only liar here. You lied to Benjy for me," James said, perking up at this realization.

"I suppose I did, but I'm not the prince. My morals aren't held to such a high standard." She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Although you should have thought of a better lie. What will you say to Benjy when you're next at the pub?"

"Well, at the glacial speed with which my parents forgive, that won't be for another two years, by which time I'm sure he'll have forgot about me."

"Are they really being so stubborn?" she asked, only mildly concerned.

"I can't—we're having a nice time." He adjusted his glasses with one hand. "Let's not ruin it."

"We are having a nice time, aren't we."

He pretended she didn't say this with just the smallest hint of surprise.

"Do you disagree?" he asked. "Because I actually wish you'd say you disagree so I can call you a liar."

"Oh, in that case I definitely disagree."

"Liar," he said, putting extra effort into his enunciation.

She laughed, and his chest tightened, but not in an unpleasant way.

She looked so wonderfully content in that moment, relaxed in his chair, her hair swept to one side and falling over her shoulder, the soft glow of the fire casting half of her face into shadow.

"I'm allowed to lie like anyone else is," he said, half his mouth pulling back in a smile. "Don't hold me to a higher standard than you do yourself. I certainly haven't earned it."

She shifted in her seat, and looked down at the fire. After a moment she leaned over the edge of her seat and tossed another log onto it.

"What?" he said.

"I don't want to say."

"Why not?"

"Because," she said, still angled in her seat to face the fireplace. "You're...you."

"Is this another one of those 'you're the prince' things?" James shoved a hand through his hair. "Because I'm dead sick of them. Just pretend I'm not the prince, please."

"But that's just it," she said, sounding a little frustrated and a little disappointed. "You're always pretending like you're not the prince."

"And?"

"And you are the prince. It's not going to go away."

"I know that, all right? I'm just not a very good one and I don't like to think about it."

She finally looked back at him and met his gaze. "So _do_ something about it. Acknowledging your flaws doesn't excuse them."

James felt as though he'd been slapped. Few people spoke to him so directly.

He found he liked it, since he knew she meant well enough.

Of course, he had been contemplating what to do, but he hadn't told anyone because he didn't think they would understand. She might, though, if she thought about his situation in such stark terms.

"I have been thinking about that," he said, his heart now pounding. Once he told her, someone would know, and that would make it a real option and not just something in his head.

"About doing something more?"

"No," he said, and he swallowed quickly. "I've been thinking about abdicating."

His idea flew out into the world, no longer his sole responsibility, and a wave of relief swept over him. Someone else knew.

"James," she said gently.

And that was it for James. She didn't approve and he wished he could take it back.

"I'm sure I'm not the first reluctant monarch," he said, feigning nonchalance.

She looked at him for a long moment, long enough that James had to look at the fire and pretend she wasn't watching him. He hoped she wasn't judging him too harshly for his cowardly aspirations.

"The incident, with Severus," she finally said. "You regret it."

His gaze snapped back to her. "Of course I do."

"But you didn't at the time."

"No. Merlin, no. I was pleased with myself back then, thinking…I'm not sure. That it made me cool, probably."

"The person I saw then—he would've liked being king."

James snorted. "At that age I couldn't wait. I mean, I knew becoming king meant my parents would die, but that didn't seem like it could really happen."

"And now you don't want to be king."

"Not at all. It's too much responsibility, and I'm…well, you know me."

Her head tilted a little as she considered him. "You don't seem to have a very high opinion of yourself."

"I wouldn't say that's entirely true." He rubbed his neck. "I mean, I think I'm all right, generally speaking. I think I used to be a bit of a shit when I was younger, and now….I don't think I'm, I dunno, good enough at being king to take the throne. That's all."

"You were a shit, I think, but you're not now. You're not perfect, I'll be the first to say, but you're not a terrible person."

She spoke with conviction, and as much as he appreciated that, he knew who he was.

"I don't have the best history of judgment on a lot of things," he said.

"I'm aware. You did propose to me, if you recall."

"No," he said firmly. "That I stand behind. By the way, marry me?"

She rolled her eyes.

"That's a decision I like," he said. "No, I've messed up more important things."

"Like what?"

"Well, military things, for one."

"You'll have to be more specific."

He didn't know how to take her comments. He hadn't had many people encourage him and actually mean it. The remarks he did get he didn't trust because he was the prince and they were his subjects, and everyone assumed he would take the throne and be in charge of them.

Except Lily knew the worst of him. She had seen the aftereffects of his younger cruelty and by all appearances wasn't holding it against him any longer.

He debated not explaining because she might decide he was awful, and he didn't think he could take her scorning him for it. But even though he'd only known her for a few weeks, he trusted her. She hadn't really hurt him. She'd rebuffed his advances, but not harshly.

And he wanted to tell her. Partially because of the tantalizing thought of revealing things he normally concealed, and partially because then she might accept that he was hopeless at being a prince, and then she might decide to marry him and do it herself.

He leaned forward, resting his palms on his knees.

"All right," he said. "Let me tell you a story."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"My father always insisted that I sit in on meetings with him and I always hated it," James said. "Although I don't know what I thought being king would be like if not that, because that's such a huge part of it. I wasn't…it just sounded fun, being in charge. Making people do what I wanted."

He ducked his head and smiled ruefully.

"But then we were in a military meeting, oh, a year and a half ago, and my father asked my opinion, and I said something really flippant, like send that unit out anyway, what did I care. He threw me out of the room. Only he came to my bedroom later and said that I'd had a point, and that he'd sent word for them to go where I said. I begged him not to because I knew if that unit went where I told them to they'd be slaughtered."

He risked a glance up at Lily to find horror just creeping over her face.

"He didn't actually send them out," James added, "but I believed him for a full week. He broke the news of their death to me and everything."

"That's—atrocious."

"Probably," James said. "But it worked, so there's that."

"To scare you off leadership."

"Nothing so dramatic." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Just…I started looking at Peter, and he seemed less rash, and impetuous, and now he's found a proper girl and…I thought, he could be a better king than me, for all I knew. I'd been chosen for this role completely by accident, and what did I know about being king, really? I'd been in those meetings for years and not listening to a word. How did that make me any better at being in charge?"

How cathartic, how wonderful to get this all out in the open. These thoughts had been trailing him like a shadow for months, and he'd been too afraid to tell any of his mates. Lily, though, was once more an ideal confidant, familiar enough with his life and yet far enough removed to lessen the sting of confession.

She seemed at a loss for words, and he hoped she now saw the folly of making him king.

"I'm sorry your father did that," she said quietly.

"Why?"

"Because it was cruel," she said, a hint of anger coming through. "I can't imagine how you felt."

"Pretty bloody awful. I refused to get out of bed for days."

He noticed her hands had clenched into fists resting on her lap.

"So you think," she said, "that because you made one stupid remark that you're not fit to be king."

He'd been furious with his father at the time, but he was ultimately grateful for the wake-up call. She seemed more outraged with George than James had ever been. Worse, she'd drawn different conclusions about James' capacity for being king than James had.

"I'm not fit, though," he said. "You've already taken me to task for being so lazy."

"Wasting your time and being a terrible person are not equivalent."

"Maybe not, but it's definitely symptomatic of me being a terrible prince."

She shook her head. "I only brought up your laziness because I think you could do something more productive with your endless free time."

He sank back in his seat and folded his arms. "As I've said, you're better suited for this life than I am. I don't handle it well."

"I ask again," she said. "Why don't you do anything about it?"

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, if you're not pleased with how you're handling your position, why haven't you done anything differently?"

He frowned. "I can't change who I am."

"I'm not telling you to do that," she said. "I'm telling you that you took entirely the wrong lesson from your father."

"I didn't, though. I learned that it's too much to be the king. I can't—I can't deal with telling people in the military where to go and knowing that some of them will die. I can't deal with the fact that people will do whatever I decide, that I can choose whether or not people are guilty of crimes."

She sat back, by all appearances looking at him with fresh eyes.

"Do you think it's easy running a pub as a woman at eighteen? That it's not plenty of responsibility?" she asked. "I could have given it up when my father died, you know, and let someone else run it."

"Running a pub and running a country are completely different."

"In some ways. But being a barmaid is a powerful position. The villagers tell me things in confidence over a pint of ale that they would never tell another soul, and I probably know _too_ much about some of the people in town, to be honest. Now, I could whinge about this burden, of knowing things and not saying things, of being responsible for Mary and Evan and Edwin getting paid enough to feed themselves and their families. Or I could accept it and just try my best."

"But you're so…." James rubbed his temple with two fingers. "You know what you're doing."

"In the weeks after my father died, I wallowed and I moped. I thought about giving up the pub, but I couldn't, not when it had been my father's. And I hated my life, which at first I thought was because I missed my father. But that wasn't it, not entirely. The thing is, I wasn't doing a very good job at the pub, but I couldn't decide whether or not to let it go."

"By your own words, that still counts as a decision."

"It was," she said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It was a decision to hold onto the pub, but I hadn't really committed, and because I couldn't decide, I did a shit job of it. I'd go to work but not really interact, just do the basic work, and I didn't…I didn't really try, as hard as I could. I mean, I'd done the cooking and some of the finances before my father died, but it wasn't my whole life, and without him, the pub…I couldn't do what he did."

"You were grieving. No one would expect you to be chipper under those circumstances."

She shook her head. "It wasn't that, not all of it – my indecision was making me miserable. So I told myself either I would give up the pub soon and be done with it, or hold onto it and try to keep my father's pub going, and do it properly. It wasn't going under or anything, but it needed more…of me. I didn't feel good about how I was doing."

James knew precisely what she meant. His heart beat furiously at hearing someone else describe his feelings exactly, but he didn't like where he suspected she was going with this.

Still, he needed to hear the end of the story because it was hers.

"Why did you decide to keep it?" he asked.

She tilted a smile at him, slow and knowing. "The thing is, at first I didn't understand why my father loved the pub so much. He worked so hard, nearly every night, but he was so happy."

"He liked his job, though," James said. "He got to choose it."

"No, he didn't, he inherited it, too. But he understood that—that working for something like that is worth it, even if it is hard and even if you don't trust yourself right away. It gives you something to for."

"So one day you tried hard like he did and that was it."

"No, you're being deliberately obtuse," she said without rancor. "No, it…it was hard, at first, and I still wasn't happy, but I kept at it because I did at least feel marginally better after a day at the pub than after a day wallowing. Not always, but sometimes."

"And now you're a wonderful barmaid," James said.

"I'm a _good_ barmaid, but the important thing is that I have something outside of myself. Something that I chose and that I gave everything I had."

"Except you know what you're doing."

"No one knows what they're doing, James," Lily said, a little impatiently. "We're all wandering around in the dark without a candle. Or a wand, in your case. It doesn't matter what you already know. It's what you're willing to learn."

He clenched his mouth shut. He knew he was being stupidly argumentative, and that she had a point, but he couldn't quite grasp it, like he was looking at it through a wall of fog.

"It gets down to this," she said. "Do you really think you're the worst possible choice for king?"

He didn't really think he was the absolute worst choice, but he certainly wasn't the best one either, and he didn't want to lose ground.

"I might be," he said.

"Liar," she retorted. "You know you're not."

He broke into a grin. "You just wanted to use the word liar."

"Did not," she said, but her half-suppressed smile said otherwise.

"Liar." He relished the way the word tumbled out of his mouth.

"There, we've both had the chance to say it again. Now, will you please listen?"

James' smile dropped. "I mean, er, you've certainly given me a lot to think about."

There was something to what she was saying, he knew there was, but it wasn't—clicking. He wanted it to, if only because she so clearly wanted him to understand her.

"It's really not that complicated." She'd gone a bit pink while she'd talked at him, and had moved so close to him that she was only half-sitting in her chair. She really believed what she was saying, and she appeared to want nothing more in that moment than to convince him. "You have two options, and I think you're confused, but it's really a simple choice. Either abdicate and let Peter get ready to take over, or stay and learn how to be a good prince."

"I can't—"

"You _can_ learn. The problem is not that you feel incompetent, it's that you're not doing anything about it. You claim to see the traits of a good leader in me, right? So if you know what those traits are, then go learn how to bring them out in yourself. It isn't about what you were born with – you said yourself that you weren't chosen on merit," she said, her eyes blazing. "So earn it."

The wall of fog vanished, and James felt like he had when his mother had given him his first pair of glasses, every detail jumping out at him. The hunch of Lily's shoulders as she leaned forward, the soft crackle of the fire, and the way her gaze had honed in on him, like they'd been for some time without him noticing.

"I wake up in the morning for my patrons, James. What do you wake up for?"

* * *

He felt utterly gutted the next morning, like he'd run for miles on end, and not just because he'd slept restlessly.

No one had ever spoken to him like that before. His mates gave the occasional pep talk, and his parents treated him alternately as an adult and as a child, but no one had explicitly told him exactly what he knew to be true.

He'd been a terrible fucking prince to date.

Not the worst, probably, but certainly not a good one.

But she thought he could do better.

She knew of his worst, and his most foolish, and she still didn't think he should abdicate.

He just had to decide. Which was so stupid, so obvious.

Of course, his brain offered the tantalizing option of abdicating right away, but he wasn't sure he wanted to do that. Not yet, anyway. Not when he could still offer Lily lessons with McGonagall, which would be much harder to organize if he abandoned his post.

Which meant he had to commit to being the prince. For now, anyway, and for the foreseeable future.

His mind immediately told him he didn't know how to be a good prince, but he told his brain to shut up and fetched a piece of parchment. Agonizing as it was, he began a list that he entitled _How To Be A Halfway Decent Prince, Or What Not To Learn From King George_.

He tried to think of everything he'd ever thought Lily was good at (_Admit when you're wrong_), and a few things he thought his father was particularly terrible at (_Indecision is still a decision_). Some were born from his own mistakes (_If you ask someone else to do something, be clear about it. Remember a lack of clarity got you turned into a frog_).

None of the things he listed seemed particularly insurmountable in their own right, but taken together they did seem a bit daunting. There was the indeterminable in-between of how to get from where he was and where he wanted to be, but the list was a starting point, if nothing else.

Abdication was still on the table. It always would be, really. But until he made that decision, he could try.

It shouldn't be that hard, really, to try.

* * *

But of course it was.

His new invigoration petered out somewhere after the first hour of the morning adviser meeting, during which James had taken very diligent notes. He felt himself nodding off and forced himself to come up with his own reaction to what Sprout was saying. He had to stop listening to do it, but that was enough of a mental break to wake him up again.

After the meeting, James made himself confront Smith the tax adviser for a clarification on a term that James hadn't understood for years but had been too afraid to ask about.

It rankled to bare his ignorance, but Smith went on about it cheerily enough, and he seemed pleased that James was interested.

Content with his progress so far, James passed the afternoon in his study after getting permission from his father. James had never spent much time in his study, preferring his bedroom and the living area at the base of the tower. The staff kept it dust-free and the window sparkling, but the few books and parchments strewn across his sunlit desk were in no semblance of order.

Terry lit a fire with his wand and stepped out into the corridor, and James started organizing the books on his shelf, flipping through them and trying to remember when and where he'd got them. Some of them he didn't remember seeing at all before.

The parchments on his desk turned out to be in large part drafts of things he'd written for McGonagall or his father in years past. He only reread a few before binning them all. They were half-hearted efforts to do what other people wanted, and they reminded him of the person he was trying not to be.

James pushed his desk chair, a plush, golden number, to the window and looked out over the frozen lake. He kept thinking of his list from the morning, and wondering if it was completely stupid to have such a thing, and how he could actually work on some of the problems he knew Gryffindor had.

Naturally the most pressing issue at hand was the situation with Slytherin. He knew it was important, much more important than his father seemed to believe, but he had no idea what to do about it. He couldn't do something on his own, that much he knew. He couldn't ask more of Lily, not when she'd just given him so much.

Of course, he had other talented wizards to draw upon.

"Padfoot, get your arse in my study," James said into his mirror. "Your country needs you."

"Sorry, I don't have any rum on me."

James had forgotten they'd developed that as a code phrase. "Oh. No, er, I mean, really. I need all three of you, if you're not otherwise occupied. And if you are otherwise occupied, stop what you're doing anyway, this is more important."

"I was going to finish a book this afternoon."

"Sometimes marvelous things, even books, have to wait."

Sirius scowled. "This had better be bloody important, then. Remus is with me but we'll find Peter, if you insist."

"Cheers."

They appeared soon enough and, given that the study held only three chairs, the four of them settled onto the bearskin rug on the floor.

Sirius lay stretched out on his back with his hands under his head. "I really hope 'your country needs you' wasn't a new code for 'I'm proposing to another random woman – help me figure out the wording.'"

"I wouldn't interrupt a book for that," James said. "I've actually called you here for something important. Yes, contain your gasps and your shock. Only Slytherin has been sending in loads of spies, yeah? And now they can off themselves whenever they please, even without a wand, so we can't get any information out of them, and obviously they want something but we don't know what."

"Slytherins," Sirius grumbled.

"Yeah, I know," said James, his arms linked around one knee, the other leg sticking straight out in front of him. "But my father won't do anything about it, not really. He wants to impose a trade restriction."

"A trade restriction?" Remus tilted his head and leaned back against an armchair. "That's an interesting choice."

"Dumbledore said they're asking for loads of steel and other stuff, too," James said, "and it's all going across our border. So it makes some sense, from the perspective of trying to keep them from getting weapons. It's not going to really stop them in the long term, though."

"No, I should think not."

Peter frowned. "Why are you telling us?"

"Because we have to do something, clearly," Sirius said, looking bored.

"You don't have to help if you don't want," James said. "I just thought my mates might want to help me figure some things out, all right? But if you don't want to, or you think I can't—"

"Of course you can, and of course we want to," Remus said simply.

Sirius reluctantly nodded and sat up, tucking his legs underneath him.

"Well, good," James said. "Anyone have any bright ideas? I've come to you, the brightest people I know—besides Dumbledore, obviously—in my hour of need."

"It depends, I suppose, on what our priority is," Remus said. "Finding the spies, finding out what they want, or stopping the weapons material from flowing into Slytherin?"

"The thing is," James said, "even thought we captured some of the first spies, we couldn't get anything out of them, not even with truth potions. So unless we can think of new interrogation techniques…."

Peter nodded. "Then I don't think it's worth our time to chase the spies if we can't get anything out of them anyway."

"But then our other priority seems impossible," James said, "because we'll never find out what they're after if we don't find the spies themselves. They can't be idiotic enough to send written messages that we could find."

"I think you've forgotten that obviously they're idiots if they're stupid enough to get caught," Sirius said.

James' lips pressed together. "But they're smart enough not to give anything up when they do get caught."

"We could attempt to follow them rather than capture them." Remus nodded at Peter. "Wormtail can trail them well enough without detection. He can find out where they go, who they meet."

"Right, then we're getting at two of the purposes," James said.

"It's more feasible than trying to stop materials from going across the border," Remus said. "I'm not sure what we can accomplish on that front."

It surprised James how much more relieved he felt about this once someone suggested that he couldn't fix every problem.

"So how can we figure out who the spies are?" Peter said. "They might not even be in Gryffindor all the time."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Peter, I find it impossible to believe they ride back to Slytherin every night, not at this distance. They're probably staying somewhere in Gryffindor."

"Unless they Portkey or fly," Remus pointed out. "Do we know if they're wizards, James?"

"Well, they've got wands, so we assume so." James rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "But flying seems unlikely, given the chance of being spotted, and that would be a lot of Portkeys for them to produce. I'm with Sirius – I think they're hiding out on our side of the border."

"We could try a general search for wizards in the area," Peter said.

"What, are we going to challenge everyone we find to prove their allegiance?" Sirius said. "Having magic doesn't mean they're spies."

James sat up straighter. "But the spies have got something unique in common – an ink marking on their arms. If we can find people with those, we'll find at least some of the spies."

"What does it look like?" Remus rubbed his chin. "Is it magical at all?"

"I'm not sure if it's magical, but it's a skull with a snake coming out of the mouth."

"Even with specific parameters, we'll need to limit the search geographically," Remus said. "We could start with Hogsmeade and expand from there. Of course, we'll need some sort of modified Search Charm covering a broad area."

James wondered why he hadn't gone to his mates as soon as he'd learned about the spies. His friends were dead clever. He should have known they'd come up with a solution, with _some_ sort of strategy, regardless of what George decided to do.

"What about the Wollstonecraft adjustment?" Peter asked.

Remus considered this and nodded. "It's a starting point, if nothing else."

"Fantastic," James said through his grin. "That's more than I had ten minutes ago. Peter, can you look up delimiting charms? Remus can look up some basic search spells, and Sirius can look up spells that test for the presence of magic. I'll see if I can't get us both access to the bodies, Padfoot, but if I can't loosen my chains, you'll have to go alone. Consider my father's permission optional."

Sirius gracefully climbed to his feet. "You just want me for my wand."

"Yes, you've caught me in the act after all these years," James said, standing up with everyone else. "I've secretly been lusting after your wand. Now, all of you, to the library. Bring me back something good, yeah?"

Sirius saluted him, and James watched his friends trail out the door, already discussing how to combine the required spells.

James wished he could join them.

* * *

After lunch the next day, George called James into a meeting with Prewett, the Earl of Scarbrough, who had concerns about an uprising. They were completely unfounded concerns, but James managed to restrain himself from even one mocking comment.

Well, he allowed himself one borderline sarcastic remark, but he listened to everything Prewett said, and everything his father said, and tried to think up a good solution of his own.

He didn't come up with one.

And that brought his confidence down a peg or two, but he chalked it up to his early days of actually trying. He might not know everything, but he no longer felt like he was drowning in responsibility, and if nothing else his mates were helping him with at least one important thing.

After Prewett left, armed with George's suggestions on improving his land rights policies, James hung back for a moment.

"He doesn't have an uprising coming his way," James felt compelled to point out.

"No, of course he doesn't." George removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his palms. "He's always been paranoid, although normally he doesn't travel across the country to speak to me about it."

"What a lovely surprise for you."

"Quite."

When James didn't continue, his father raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I've a bit of a random request," James said, looking at his feet.

"Which is?"

"Er, do we still have the bodies of the spies with the inking on their arms?"

"Dumbledore has them in stasis somewhere, I believe," George said, putting his glasses back on, "although I am exceptionally curious to know why you ask."

James forced his gaze back up to his father. "Well, I've always fancied a try at Necromancy."

His father didn't even smile, just waited for James to give him the real reason.

"I wanted to know whether there was any magic in the inking," James admitted.

"And why did you wonder about that?"

"I was trying—to be thorough," James said, wishing he'd thought about an excuse beforehand. "About potential problems. I mean, what if they've got charms embedded in the inking? Not just for suicide, but spells to go off after they're dead."

"I'm sure Dumbledore has accounted for this possibility."

"All the same, d'you think I could check them out myself? With Sirius, that is."

George sighed. "What sort of shenanigans are you plotting, James?"

"Just—" James shoved his hand through his hair. "Can't you be glad I'm doing anything?"

George folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. "I'll have Dumbledore arrange something."

"Thanks."

"But whatever you discover about the inkings, promise me you won't act on it without my permission."

"Perish the thought."

"I mean it," George said, giving a lazy wave toward the door. "Now run along and do whatever it is you're doing with your time these days. Besides Necromancy, that is. None of that. I forbid it."

"Very well," James said in a long-suffering sort of way. "I've some bodies of my own to dispose of, in that case."

"So long as you don't dump them out the window. Hagrid hates when you do that."

"Noted. Bodies are only to be cremated."

"That's perfectly acceptable."

James retreated to his study and pushed his chair to the window. He kicked his feet up on the windowsill and leaned the chair back on two legs, seeing how far he could go without losing his balance.

Now that he had a goal, he wished there were something more he could do besides wait for his father to talk to Dumbledore. Sirius had brought James some spell books to skim through, but James wasn't in the mood for flipping through musty pages.

Instead he let his mind wander, keeping track of time only by the sky outside his window. It faded to a bright orange and then a dark, bruise purple, at which point Terry brought in his dinner and a cheery Sirius.

"So this is where you've been hiding out," Sirius said, settling into one of the wide armchairs next to the bookcase.

"I needed a change of scenery." James let his feet drop, the chair falling back onto all of its legs with a thud, and joined Sirius in an armchair by the fire.

"Can't blame you. I'd go mad locked up like that. Oh wait," Sirius said, giving James a devious grin, "I did."

"You accidentally melted your bedroom wall. I should hardly call that going mad."

"Admittedly by my family's standards it was a minor offense."

"I concede. I can't argue with the veracity of that statement."

Sirius glanced around the study. "What've you been doing in here? I don't remember the last time I saw you behind that desk, let alone two days in a row."

"Oh, er, thinking."

"Thinking. Sure."

"I didn't sneak Lily bloody Evans in here in the middle of the day, if that's what you're implying. I may be a rule bender but I'm no idiot."

"Well," Sirius drawled.

"Yes, yes. It's all very easy in hindsight to point out the folly of my choices, but risking Lily's freedom isn't one of them."

"Because the guards are much less alert at night. No crimes are ever committed by moonlight."

James had to admit that Sirius had a point. "Well, Remus could probably lie to the guards well enough. Explaining her to my father, who doesn't wander around at night, would be a completely different challenge."

"And how would you explain her to fair Valerie?"

James' stomach clenched at the thought of Valerie hearing about Lily visiting James in his room. "A valid concern. I'll have to devise a plan."

"Not that I care much for Valerie, mind you." Sirius leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. "Only thinking of you here, Prongs. Not at all imagining Valerie Transfiguring you into a goat."

"Valerie's not that sort of person."

"Lily might be, though. She is much more entertaining, as far as potential wives go. If you must get married, think of the outrage that would ensue if you married a commoner, and how much enjoyment your best mate would derive from said outrage."

"I'll make sure to consider your thoughts as I proceed with selecting a wife."

"That's all I ask, Prongs," Sirius said, eyes darting briefly toward the window. "That's all I ask."

James followed Sirius' gaze to the stars that now peppered the sky outside. "You've more important people to bother right now."

"I don't suppose we can fool Terry into letting you out with us tonight?"

"Unfortunately not," James said with a resigned smile.

Sirius nodded, disappointed but not surprised. "Peter's walked him out there, but I wanted to check that you were still confined."

"Much to my chagrin."

"Alas. The night would be better in your company."

"Alas indeed." James waved him toward the door. "Go on, then. Moony needs you more than I."

"Peter and I'll continue to slave away in the library without Moony tomorrow, but only because you asked so nicely."

"I don't ask. I tell. I am the prince."

"Quickly, count the number of times this has ever mattered one whit to me. Are you done? Because I should hope so."

James nodded. "Then I formally request your presence at the inspection of the corpses."

"And when will it occur?" Sirius pushed himself up out of the chair.

"To be determined. I did ask my father, and he's reluctantly agreed to give us access. Naturally he's highly suspicious. Suspects us of shenanigans, of all things."

Sirius' mouth curved into a mischievous grin. "And yet he allows us access to dead bodies. Most curious."

"Indeed." James smiled without humor. "But you should go. Be there for Moony when I can't."

"Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness. Whatever you require of me."

* * *

Lily poked her head through the James' bedroom door the following night. "Have you wasted away from boredom?"

"Not yet," James said, looking up from the spell book he'd been reading by the fire. "I think it might be complete by next Tuesday, though."

She gave a thin smile and walked through the door, shutting it gently behind her.

James set the book down on the table between the armchairs. "Learn anything good today?"

"The basic principles of Transfiguration." She sank into the seat opposite him and folded her cloak over her lap. "Professor McGonagall's wand works very well for it."

"I should think so. It's rather her specialty, although she always starts off with useless things, like matches into needles."

Lily gave a short nod. "Mine went a little pointy, which she said was a great effort for a first lesson, but I'm still not sure how I'm ever going to use it even when I do master it."

"That is a good first effort!" James didn't mention that he'd mastered it almost immediately. "You'll be even better once we get you your own wand."

"It shouldn't be too much longer. She's found someone who will come to us for a fitting, but he can't make it up this way for another month."

"I'd give you one now if I could," he offered.

"It's fine. I can wait." She spoke quickly, tightly, her eyes fixed on the roaring fire.

He didn't reply right away, and she didn't add anything else. They sat in silence for a moment, disturbed only by a sharp pop from a log in the fire, but she didn't seem to hear it.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She turned back to him and let out a deep breath. "We can't all be beacons of lunacy at every given moment."

"Is something wrong? If you say nothing, don't think I won't call you a liar."

"I would never say it's nothing if it's something."

And she wouldn't, he realized.

She sighed. "I don't want to tell you about all of my problems, James."

"Why not?" he protested. "I've told you plenty of mine. It's only fair."

"Because you're—you. You're going to want to do something about them."

"Well, of course." He frowned. "What sort of person would I be if I didn't do everything I could to help you when you needed it?"

"Right, but you could actually do something, and you—fancy me," she said, one hand brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes, "and I don't want you to magically fix all my problems."

"Who said I would use magic? I can solve things other ways, too. You'd be amazed what a little glue can do. And I probably owe you for those windows."

"I can handle my own life. I don't need you to do it for me and I don't want you to do it for me."

"Well, that's just not on," he said, trying to contain his frustration. He'd confessed some of his biggest secrets to her not three days ago, and she still fought him on nearly everything.

"I'm not telling you any of my problems so long as you think you can just cast a spell or send a guard down to the pub to fix it," Lily said, lifting her chin.

"You helped me," he tried. "Can't I help you?"

She pressed her lips together. "Promise me you won't try to do anything—and in any way, I know how you think, that you can get around this by having someone else do it, but I mean wholeheartedly promise—and maybe I will."

He had been plotting, of course—that was in his nature—but it seemed her stubbornness knew no bounds. And he wanted to know, especially now that she'd made such a fuss about it.

"Well, then I, James George Potter, do promise not to do anything."

"Good."

James looked at her expectantly. "And?"

"I will tell you. _As a friend_."

"Right, of course," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, "you're not my subject. Don't think that you are legally obligated to tell me or anything, that's not—not what I meant."

Her face distorted into a disgusted look. "I suppose I am 'your subject.'"

"It's an awful word, hence my usual avoidance of it," he said quickly. "You were saying?"

She tapped a finger on her cloak. "My brother-in-law is rather displeased with me at the moment."

"Well, since you're eminently likeable, obviously he's not right in the head. I can't think of any reason to be displeased with you, except for the fact that you won't marry me."

"Yes, but you're—he does own the pub, you realize."

"Oh." James blinked. "Right."

"My sister is older than I am," she said, "and she's married, and there was no one else left for it to go to but him."

James knew there were laws about these things, and he should have wondered about this earlier, but she'd always _acted_ like she owned it. It seemed he'd mistaken that pretense for fact.

"You should own it," he said. "You deserve it."

She shrugged. "I wish the pub were mine, but it's not and that's just how it is."

He'd known the laws were stacked in favor of men, but it had never seemed like such a pressing issue until he'd met Lily. Even if she got the money to buy the pub off of them, and even if she got them to agree to sell it, he knew that she could only own it as long as she didn't get married.

"Why's he displeased with you?" James asked. "You do a wonderful job."

She arched an eyebrow. "Wonderful barmaids don't abandon their posts several times a week to sneak through royal tunnels."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_."

"That's rather a problem."

"Obviously. But you're not going to do anything about it."

"But I could," he argued.

He could buy the pub and give it to Lily, or threaten her brother-in-law into submission, or any number of different things. But he'd promised.

He scowled.

"I know you could," she said, "but it's manageable. I'm working out the finances to hire someone else, and I'll help Mary learn some of the things I do so she can better take over those nights."

"Or," James said, "your brother-in-law and sister could help run the pub. It can't be that hard to do _something _there. Particularly if they own it, which I assume means they take home some of the profit."

She let out a sharp, dark laugh. "Believe me, we're all happier the less they come around the pub. My brother-in-law is not particularly…endearing."

James shifted in his seat. "And your sister?"

"She thinks we should have sold the pub. I think it reminded her too much of our father, and she wanted to get rid of everything that would remind her of him, but I convinced them to let me run the pub, at least for a while. Now that their pockets are lined, they've come around a little."

"But they might still sell it at any moment."

"If they wanted to, they could. I'm certainly not encouraging them by running off all the time."

"That's so…well, there doesn't seem to be a better word than unfair. It's textbook unfair."

She gave him a wry smile. "And you said you didn't like serving a judicial role."

"That—it's not the same."

He didn't understand how she could make light of the fact that her entire way of life existed at the whim of her sibling. Lily loved that pub, and now that he knew exactly how much of herself she'd poured into it, he wanted nothing more than to give it her.

What a fool his past self had been for agreeing to her stupid promise.

"But they'd only sell it if it stopped being profitable, right?" he said.

"Maybe," she said.

"What other reason could there be?"

She didn't answer immediately, her jaw tightening. "My sister doesn't like that I run the pub. She thinks it's dirty and that it's not suitable work for a woman."

James scoffed. "But you're bloody good at being a barmaid. What should you do instead, take up sewing for a living? You don't strike me as the handicrafts type."

"She envisions something more along the lines of getting married and having children."

"Finally," James said, grinning, "a sentiment I can relate to."

She laughed. "Yes, I suppose so. The thing is, James, if she sells the pub, I'll be unhappy about it, that's true. But if she sells it then she loses all hold over my life, so it wouldn't be the worst outcome."

James cocked his head, a new thought bothering him. "She's not a witch, is she?"

"No," Lily said, her eyes shuttered, and that told James everything he needed to know.

"She should be proud to have a witch for a sister," he said fervently. "You could do so much more at the pub if you could use magic. And you can, once you've got a proper wand of your own."

She glanced at him, one hand straightening out her skirts. "I've got some ideas already, actually, but I'm not sure they'll work out."

James smiled proudly. "You should do them if you can without giving away your abilities. You might get away from some of them after hours—unless, have you told your sister you're a witch? That she's nothing to fear?"

"No."

James looked at her, waiting, and at first she didn't seem inclined to continue. But James leaned forward and nodded encouragingly at her.

"She doesn't like to acknowledge it exists," Lily reluctantly went on. "It wouldn't matter to her whether or not other people had it because it's still not normal."

He ruffled up his hair with one hand. "I'm sorry your sister—well, I'm sorry. I really would do something if you'd let me."

"Well, don't, please," she said, smiling weakly. "I can handle it. I just need to convince them I'm still committed to the pub."

"If you say so," he said uncertainly.

"And I do." She lifted her cloak off her lap. "I think I'm going to go, if that's all right."

"Oh, yeah, of course. If you need to—want to go."

"I'm not—well, you know." She gave him an apologetic smile. "I'll stay longer next time, all right?"

He nodded. "Don't ever feel obligated—that is, you know I'd fix all this for you if I could."

"I know you would," she said, standing up and throwing her cloak over her shoulders. "That's just who you are."

James hadn't thought it was possible for him to fancy her more.

She just kept proving him wrong.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Over the next several days, James invited himself to as many of his father's meetings as possible. This had the dual benefit of making him feel useful and keeping himself too busy to talk to Valerie outside of meals.

When he wasn't meeting with advisers or guards or castle staff or envoys or Dumbledore, he retreated to his study to slowly thumb through all the books he'd rediscovered. Some of them bordered on interesting. Others left him staring out the window in distraction. But he made his way through as much as possible, and some of it even stuck in his brain, and interspersed them with the charm books Sirius brought him from the library.

More than anything he worked for hours on his opinion of the murder hearing. He wrote several feet arguing that it had been an accident and the man shouldn't be punished too harshly. He even looked up precedents, and wrote a draft opinion before his final one, like McGonagall had always pushed him to do with his magic assignments. He even asked Remus and Dumbledore for some pointers, and they were happy to advise him.

Trying was hard.

It was not fun.

More often than not he still felt clueless about a lot of things.

But overall he did feel better than he had, and somehow it was easier to get up in the morning. After all, James had things to learn and people to talk to and bodies to inspect.

"Well, that was easy," Sirius said, raising his eyebrows at James. "It's practically spitting magic at me."

"All that research for nothing," James lamented.

Sirius pocketed his wand and crumpled up the list of spells he'd made, then looked back at the corpse in front of them and frowned.

The spy seemed harmless in death, with no visible wounds marring his trim frame. Someone had left his sleeve rolled up. The obnoxious inking stood out in stark relief against his bloodless skin.

James rubbed his hands over his arms and wished he'd brought his cloak. He'd forgotten how the heavy, wet air of the dungeon could sneak through any gap in his clothing, chilling him to the bone.

"What sort of magic is it, exactly?" James asked.

"Dark."

James gave Sirius a look of disapproval. "Don't give up after two spells – we need more information than that." He grabbed the ball of parchment out of Sirius' hand and tried to smooth it out against his thigh.

"What more do we need to know?"

"Dark magic isn't unique to the spies," James pointed out. "We can't just search for that. Come on, give this fifth spell a go." He shoved the list in Sirius' face.

Sirius sighed and took the list, his eyes skimming over the remaining spells.

"This is for the safety of our country, all right?" James said. "Even the smallest amount of tenacity would be well placed."

Sirius drew his wand out of his pocket. "Fine. If it's for the _country_."

* * *

James and Sirius found Peter and Remus in James' bedroom, both taking copious notes in the armchairs by the fireplace.

Remus looked up from his parchment when they entered. "How did it go?"

"The Wollstonecraft adjustment was a good start," James said, sitting on the armrest of Peter's chair, "but it won't get us all the way there. The inkings are rife with Dark magic, probably enough to overwhelm Wollstonecraft."

"We need something less sensitive, then," Remus said thoughtfully.

"At least we found the right delimiting charms," Peter said, offering a weak smile, "or at least a few I think will work."

Sirius rolled his eyes and dropped onto his bed. "I told you, only one of those is going to work, Wormtail. But it's a moot point if we can't define the search criteria."

Remus tapped the feather of his quill against his chin. "I've bookmarked a few potential options besides Wollstonecraft. I think we could combine a few charms, but we might have to develop an entirely new one."

"You mean _you'll_ have to develop a new charm," James said.

"I suppose so," Remus sighed.

"I'd help, but…." James raised his eyebrows and grinned.

"I recall the incident you're thinking of, and yes, I'm fine without your assistance."

"Bugger," Sirius said, looking back and forth to Remus and James. "This means I'll have to help, doesn't it."

"I'm afraid so," Remus said.

"I had plans for this afternoon, you know," Sirius muttered, pushing himself off his bed. "I was going to read and have a nap and maybe run about in the woods a bit." He shot a harmless glare at James. "Look what you've done to me now. Mornings in the dungeon and afternoons in the library. I'm a _noble_, James. I'm not supposed to have to _do_ things."

"Yeah, well, you've always complained about being a noble, so think of this as an exercise in peasantry."

"I'll show you peasantry," Sirius said under his breath, stalking toward the door. "See how you feel about an uprising. That's what all the cool peasants do."

* * *

"McGonagall's trying to cover a little from each division of magic," Lily said, curled up in James' chair. "We did Potions today and, oh, I still have your book—"

"Keep it."

She beamed at him. "And it's amazing how much of Potions nonmagical people understand intuitively. I mean, yes, we can't do all the magical parts, but a lot of these reactions are just physical properties."

James leaned sideways, his elbow on the armrest, his fingers threaded through the hair above his ear. His mouth pulled back in a ridiculous grin.

"What?" she said defensively. "It's true. McGonagall and I talked about it."

"No, it's just…you referred to yourself as a nonmagic person."

"I did," she said, but she didn't seem ashamed. "Are you surprised I can't immediately fathom myself as a witch?"

"I suppose not. You've had years of thinking—well, whatever it is you thought."

It probably didn't help that that Lily had so few people in her life to talk to about magic, or that her one remaining relative disapproved of her abilities.

"I wish I could meet your sister," James said. He wanted to try to talk some sense into her, or, if that proved futile, hex her with something minor. Maybe a horn-growing hex.

Lily looked at him strangely.

"Er, that transition made sense in my head," he said.

"Of course it did," she said wryly. "But I don't plan on sneaking her into the castle anytime soon. Even if I wanted to, she'd never deign to step into such a rank tunnel."

"No, don't do that," James agreed. "But later, when I'm free. Why can't I meet her then? I can be charming."

"Besides everything we already discussed?" She raised an eyebrow. "Plenty of reasons. Among other things, how would I introduce you? This is Prince James, the person who first taught me magic?"

"I'd prefer the term friend, all things considered." He smiled, inviting her to think it was a joke, but he meant it.

She considered this. "I'm not sure I want to be friends with the prince. That sounds like an awful lot of responsibility."

"Pity it's already happened."

"I suppose we are friends," she said after a moment. "After all, I come visit you when you're locked in your tower. Rapunzel."

"Oi."

"You do always go on about your hair."

James conceded the point with a nod. "Does that make you Prince Charming?"

"Well, you certainly weren't filling the role."

"Daggers through my heart. A handful of daggers. Dipped in poison. Bespelled to cut through anything."

She laughed at him. "Do you just sit around all day and think of ridiculous things to say to me?"

"No." He sat up straighter, his heart beating just a little faster. He'd wanted to tell her this, but he hadn't known how, and he hadn't wanted to go on about it right away because he hadn't known if he could do it. But now it had been long enough that it didn't seem like bragging, more like…thanking. "In fact, I've been exceptionally productive recently, I don't mind telling you."

"What, practicing balancing a spoon on your nose?"

"Why would I—if anything I'd teach myself to juggle. Mary thought I had the look of a juggler."

She tilted her head, watching him with great amusement. "Do you ramble like this to yourself when no one's around?"

"Normally I'd talk to my cat," he said, making a lazy circle in the air with his hand, "but given the circumstances…."

"So I'm filling in for your cat. Lovely."

"Didn't we just establish you're the Prince Charming type, here to save me from eternal boredom?"

"With my rakish good looks, I suppose it must be true."

"Quite." James gave her a lop-sided grin, but it quickly shrank and he looked down at his lap. "But, er, yeah, I have been—I've actually been trying, lately."

"To be less of a lunatic? If so, I think that's a hopeless battle."

"No, to be…well, princely, in a word."

He risked a glance up at her and saw her mouth curve into a slow, broad smile. "I'm really, really glad to hear that," she said, and he believed her.

He ruffled his hair with one hand, a slow, content warmth blooming through his chest at her approval. "I've made my decision. For now. To stay, that is. But I'm still…I'm not great at it."

"It hasn't been very long," she pointed out. "You can't expect to be perfect at it overnight."

"I do have a list, though," he said, wondering if it was worth mentioning at all, "of things I want to do. I mean, not initiatives, but, well, what I'd like to be like, someday."

She didn't ask to see it, just gave him an even gaze, but he pulled it out of his pocket and unfolded it anyway, smoothing out the creases against his knee.

He handed it over and she held it up in front of her, angling it to better catch the light. He watched her eyes skim over it and tried not to laugh when she smiled to herself. He hadn't meant it as a silly list, but he supposed to anyone else it might read that way.

"You seem to have covered the basics," she said.

She handed the sheet back to him and he tucked it into a pocket.

"And it's more than the list," James said. "I've been doing—well, a lot of things, like legal opinions and talking in meetings and, well, trying. I mean, mostly we're trying to find spies—my mates and I, that is, we're trying to invent some spells because my father—well, we've already talked about him, and I'm tired of waiting, so I figured if I'm staying, I should maybe actually do something, and…yeah."

Her smile grew wider as he spoke, and he became terribly aware of the fact that one of his hands was on the back of his neck without him knowing it, and that his glasses were dirty, and above all how tremendously beautiful she was, particularly in firelight.

"And how are you sleeping?" she asked.

"Wonderfully. And waking up—yeah." He wrenched the hand on his neck down to his lap. "So things…they're good. And the list might be a little, well, strange, but it helps me, and, well, let me know if you think of other things to add."

"I will, but I've only just turned nineteen, you know. I'm not exactly an expert either."

He raised his eyebrows. "Only just?"

"As of yesterday," she said, lifting her chin.

"You're older than I am, then. Not by much, though."

"Thank you for your well wishes," she said dryly.

"Oh, right. Sorry. Happy birthday! We're having a party."

"Considering there are two of us, I'm not sure this qualifies as a party."

"No," James said, although he'd had parties of two before – she clearly didn't know anything about parties. "I'll call my mates, and I'll have Terry fetch us some cakes or something."

She looked at him the way she often did, in a resigned, amused sort of way. "I'd tell you to stop being ridiculous but I don't think you're physically capable."

James leapt up and went to rummage around his cloak pockets. "Oi, Padfoot," he called into the mirror he pulled out. "Get Remus and Peter over here. We're having a birthday party. Don't invite Helena."

"Whose birthday—stupid question," Sirius answered. "We're over in Remus' chambers working on that charm, but—oh, hold on. What? Oh, brilliant. Peter's got some rum in his room, he says. We'll run and fetch it. In the meantime, put your trousers back on."

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius," James said, wishing his blush would fade as quickly as it had sprung up, "we're not having…relations."

"Of course not. All the same, we'll be there soon so make yourselves decent."

James scowled and shoved the mirror back in his cloak pocket.

"You called it 'relations,'" Lily said, giggling a little.

James did not picture her as a giggler, generally speaking, but he found it endearing nonetheless.

"And you just called sex 'it,'" he said, turning around, "so I think that makes us about even."

She laughed at him, and he made a rude gesture at her while he strode over to the door and cracked it open.

"Oi, Terry."

Terry stood at attention, looking a little worn around the edges. "Yes, sir?"

"It's Lily's birthday," James said apologetically. "Would you mind running down to the kitchens and fetching us some cakes or something?"

Terry wrung his hands. "Strictly speaking, sir, I'm not supposed to leave you unattended."

"Terry," James said, putting on his most persuasive, chummy voice, "we're mates, aren't we? I'm not going anywhere, not with Lily here, and there's the tracking spell besides. I promise, we'll be here when you get back. Won't take you five minutes, I bet."

Terry looked distraught but he agreed, and James stepped back inside the room.

"There," James told Lily as he sat down again. "All set."

"I've already had a party, you know."

"Yeah, but this one might be better. I mean, I suppose they're my mates, not yours, although mine are pretty spectacular. But then you've got Mary, at least, and—" He nearly said Snape, but caught himself just in time. "How is she? I bet she can drink us both under the table at parties."

"You don't want to know about Evan or Edwin?" Lily said airily.

"I should pretend to care as part of my new paradigm, and yet…."

She rolled her eyes at him and smiled. "Mary's well. And yes, she could drink through a quarter of my stores if she had a mind to, I'm sure. She's bested loggers older than my father."

James warred with himself over whether he could ask about Snape—it seemed like the polite thing to do since the two of them were friends, but he didn't want to start another argument.

But she'd probably like if he asked, and that was the most important thing.

"Did Snape go?" he asked, feigning a casual tone.

Her smile faded. "No," she said tightly.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to…." He didn't know what he didn't mean, exactly, but he didn't like causing that shuttered look on her face.

She seemed to catch herself and forced a smile. "He didn't come to the party. We'd rowed, and…well, now I've a confession for you."

"What?" he said, a small coil of dread growing in his stomach.

"This is very unlike me, I promise," she said, clenching her hands in her skirts, her face tilted to the floor, "but I…I told Severus who you were. Not intentionally, but it sort of…slipped out."

James let out a long breath. "Merlin, Lily, I thought you were going to tell me you had some sort of lethal disease, or that you disliked my hair." At her uncertain look, he added, "I mean, yes, I'd prefer you hadn't told him, but it's not the end of the world."

"I'm glad you're not too torn up over it. I really—well, didn't mean to."

"Of course you didn't. You're not that sort of person," James assured her. "Although I can't imagine how that came up in a casual conversation."

"I confronted him about his magic, obviously."

He frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"My best friend and I have had something in common for years and only just realized it. You're right, I should have kept it a secret for no reason."

James tried to think of how to say what he meant without saying exactly what he meant, because she would probably take offense. "I would've only hesitated because you can't be certain of his…affiliations."

"_Affiliations_?"

As usual, his plan to show any amount of tact failed. He supposed she'd always preferred the blunt approach anyway.

"I still think Snape could be Slytherin and lying," he said.

"Well, he's not," she countered. "In fact, he suspects you of casting a spell on me."

"Metaphorically or literally?"

She tried to suppress her smile and failed. "Probably both, honestly, but I believe he was referring to the latter."

"Oh, well. I haven't, actually."

"I didn't think you would."

James beamed.

Then it dropped when he realized that he might no longer offer a unique set of services.

"Is Snape going to teach you more magic?" he said, hoping that she said no, and that Snape was a cruel bastard. "I suppose it would be easier to meet with him than with McGonagall."

"Er, no, he didn't—" She turned to face the fire. "That is, he did at first, but then—well, we're not exactly speaking at the moment."

"What happened?" He hoped he sounded concerned and not ecstatic.

"He wanted to know how I had suddenly come to this realization about my magic, and I had to admit you'd told me, and we rowed and I—well, I outed you by accident while defending you, and he was accusing you of such awful things, and I didn't—it just came out of me. Then he called me a throne-seeking trollop and I threw him out again."

"That bastard," James said through a grin – she'd defended him! "Doesn't he know I'm the barmaid-seeking trollop in this relationship?"

Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle her laugh. "You are, though, aren't you?"

Someone knocked at the door, and it was not a knock that James recognized.

James' gaze bounced from the door to Lily. "I don't know who that is," he whispered.

Lily shot him a panicked look.

"Who is it?" James called, hoping he was imagining the waver in his voice.

"An elderly gentleman who wonders why his youngest charge chose the room furthest away from the ground."

"Dumbledore," James whispered to Lily.

"This is no time to be making up words," she whispered back, her eyes scanning the room and settling on James' bed.

"Give me a minute," James shouted through the door. He threw on his dressing robe over his clothes while Lily tip-toed over to his bed and crawled under it.

When she'd tucked herself out of sight, James calmly opened the door and smiled at Dumbledore.

"What brings you to my dormitory at such a late hour?" James asked. He held the door open and moved aside.

Dumbledore stepped through, his eyes briefly flitting about the room, smiling in that slight way he favored. "I journeyed here to inquire about a rumor that reached my ears this evening."

"What sort of rumor?" James said casually, his palms sweating. "If this is about something McGonagall said about frogs—"

"I'm certain Minerva has kept your confidences. No, I'm here in regard to a somewhat more delicate, albeit more fascinating, topic."

"Oh?"

Dumbledore gazed around the room once more and then looked James in the eye. "Would you care to explain why there's a young woman hiding under your bed, James?" he asked in a mildly interested tone.

"Er. No."

Dumbledore nodded to himself. "This should be a much more interesting conversation if we were all present. Would you care to join us, young lady?"

Lily crept out onto the rug and climbed to her feet with grace.

"Hello," she said faintly, running her fingers through her hair to straighten it out.

"And who might you be?" Dumbledore asked, not at all surprised or concerned about finding a girl under James' bed.

She brushed her hands over her skirts. "I'm Lily Evans."

"Your face strikes me as familiar, but unfortunately my aged mind cannot recall the circumstances under which we might have met."

"I run The Three Broomsticks," she offered. "If you've ever been there."

"Ah, yes, of course. I may not be a frequent patron but I am an enthusiastic one."

"Thank you. We try."

She spoke with more aplomb than James would have if he'd been caught hiding under someone's bed.

"She's not noble but she's a witch," James explained.

Lily nodded. "I am. I've done spells and everything."

Dumbledore looked Lily up and down, detached and assessing. "I've long speculated that individuals such as yourself must exist with more frequency than is generally acknowledged. However, I confess I have not met one in quite some time."

"But you've met one before?" Lily said quickly, eyes widening a little.

"Quite by accident, yes. But that is a tale for another time."

James wished Dumbledore hadn't said that, hadn't made Lily droop just a little.

"Although," Dumbledore added, "I admit some curiosity, James, as to why Lily's magical status should lead to her passing an evening under your bed."

"Er, right," James said, his cheeks warm. "Well, I found out Lily is a witch—she didn't know—and I've been bringing her into the castle to get magic lessons from McGonagall. Professor McGonagall, that is."

Dumbledore gave a solemn nod. "A wise choice of tutor."

"Er, please don't tell my parents about Lily. She needs to learn how to do magic."

Dumbledore maintained his faint smile. "And why should I tell your parents?"

"Why should you tell my parents I have a strange girl in my room against all social rules and probably their wishes?"

"I do not intend to inform them of my discovery for the evening," Dumbledore assured him. "This appears to be a perfectly harmless meeting of the minds."

James let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And maybe don't tell them that Terry left? I only sent him to fetch some food from the kitchens."

"I confess I am pleased to see his temporary absence did not inspire you to run out into the village."

"Well, no. I only kept going there so—well, to teach Lily magic," James lied. "But then my father—"

The door flung open and Sirius strode through. "We come bearing—nothing that could be considered illegal." He nodded at Dumbledore but didn't stop or seem particularly fazed at all.

Remus and Peter followed him in and reacted much more appropriately, in James' opinion, both looking rather guilty.

"It appears I've intruded on a celebration," Dumbledore said, eyeing the bottles of rum in Peter's hands.

Peter belatedly shoved them behind his back.

"Lily had her birthday yesterday," James said sheepishly.

"Ah! A tremendous occasion," Dumbledore said. "I wish you the happiest of self anniversaries, Ms. Evans."

James had never understood Dumbledore less than in that moment. He'd always thought Dumbledore hated holidays. After all, Dumbledore's idea of an appropriate gift was socks.

"Thank you," Lily said, but James could tell she was as baffled as he was.

Sirius moved to lounge on his bed, while Remus and Peter dropped off their bounty on the table near the armchairs.

"So what was the rumor you heard that you wanted to talk about?" James asked lightly.

"I heard tales of a woman accompanying one Remus Lupin up the tower stairs at night," Dumbledore said with a pointed look at Remus.

Remus smiled warily.

"He's not going to tell my parents," James told him, and Remus looked visibly relieved. "Hopefully not about all this rum, either?"

Dumbledore smiled at him. "I believe I've satisfied my investigation into these rumors. I won't intrude on your celebration any longer than necessary. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Evans," he said, nodding at her. "I hope we can speak more about your abilities at a later date."

"Thank you for helping us," she said. "I'd be happy to talk to you about it sometime."

"Er, yeah, thanks," James said.

"Think nothing of it," Dumbledore said. "I might remind you I was young once, impossible though it may be to believe."

Dumbledore smiled at James and headed for the open door. Before he could leave, though, Terry came through the door carrying a tray full of small, exquisitely decorated cakes.

Terry's eyes bulged when he saw Dumbledore leaving.

"It's okay, Terry. He's cool," James said, and he gave Dumbledore a brief nod.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose a little, but he continued to smile and went on his way without another word.

* * *

Tiny balls of white light hung in the air around the bedroom, casting long shadows over the five of them where they sat in a circle on the floor, passing around what remained of the alcohol.

James loved the lights – in part because he felt like he was in the middle of a star field, and in part because he'd soaked up the look on Lily's face while she'd watched Remus and Peter cast the spells. Her right hand and her mouth had twitched, mimicking the movements and the words while trying not to give herself away.

Of course, Remus had noticed, too, and he'd let Lily practice casting some of the lights with his wand. She'd got a couple to appear, but if she noticed that they shined duller than the others, she didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else.

Except for Sirius, who at one point looked like he was going to comment, but James shut him down with a stern look.

"Lily, I saw your cook snogging some girl out in the alley the other day," Peter confessed in a drunken slur.

Lily scowled. "Not again."

"Did you know, he has a really, really long tongue?"

"Why—no, never mind. I don't want to know," Sirius said, and threw back another finger of gin.

"It's not like I was _trying_ to watch his tongue," Peter said.

"D'you ever notice how brilliant silence is sometimes, Moony?" Sirius said. "I fancy it more than most other noises, as it happens."

"I won't talk about it more. I promise."

"Really," Sirius continued, as though Peter hadn't spoken, "I should spell myself deaf more often. It's so peaceful."

"No, don't ignore me," Peter said mournfully.

James watched Sirius and Peter bicker for a while, his mind blissfully calm, although he eventually nudged Sirius with his elbow to encourage him to tone it down a little.

Sirius threw James an annoyed look but put on a smile for Peter.

James leaned back against Sirius' bedframe and noticed Remus and Lily had sunk deep into conversation next to him. He kept his eyes focused on Peter pleading with Sirius not to be so mean about his girlfriend, but listened in on Remus.

"I assume James insisted on this party, and I hope you don't mind," Remus said in a low voice. "He can be…a little much, for some people, but he needed something like this, even if you didn't."

Lily shrugged. "I'm not one to turn down a party, and James…. I see it as he's not afraid to be himself. Mostly, that is."

"You're aware of his—issue?"

"If by that you mean his confidence issues, then yes," she said with a knowing smile. "We're working on it."

Remus blinked. "You are?"

"Well, he is," she amended. "I just encouraged him, really."

"That's very kind of you."

"It wasn't kindness. He told me what his father did and I find it reprehensible. He made James underestimate himself in the worst way."

"You have to understand that James—he never took being a prince seriously," Remus said. "George had always been too lenient toward James and he was at the end of his rope."

She sat up straighter. "He traumatized James."

"I'm not defending him, simply explaining. Clearly George took the lesson too far. He'd never played the disciplinarian before, and abruptly changing tactics hasn't worked particularly well for him."

"I don't care what his motivations were," she said tartly. "He shouldn't have done it."

"I'm glad we're in agreement." Remus' mouth turned up in a faint smile. "Now, tell me which method McGonagall is using to teach you magic. She used Kesslers with us—"

James felt a slow burn start somewhere in his chest, but he was too pissed to really examine it.

Instead he interrupted their conversation, and Peter and Sirius, by wobbling to his feet and raising his cup.

"We haven't done a birthday toast," James cried. Peter clapped, Sirius groaned, and Lily raised an eyebrow. "To Lily Evans, the impossible witch, and the best damn barmaid Hogsmeade has ever seen!"

"Hear hear," shouted his mates, Sirius a little slower and less enthusiastically than the others.

Lily rolled her eyes and raised her tankard. "To James Potter, the lunatic prince," she muttered.

James didn't mind, though. She'd toasted him, and she seemed to be having a nice enough time, and she smiled at him sometimes when she thought he wasn't looking.

She got up and claimed the last cake on Terry's behalf, to Sirius' protests, and carried it over to the door.

That, James thought, was just the sort of thing that made him want to marry her, even though she hadn't accepted his proposal yet.

He had months to convince her, he told himself, and he smiled.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **I'm sure you are thinking to yourself, "Hey, it's Friday [or perhaps Saturday depending on your time zone]! What gives?" Not that I suppose any of you are complaining. But yes, it is not Tuesday and I am updating because I am impatient. Provided my beta can turn around the rest of the story in sufficient time, we're switching to twice a week updates. I was going to post on Saturday but I'm trying to make this the best day of MaryLouise1996's life. Enjoy!

**Chapter Ten**

"Your cat is unmanageable," Odette said.

James groaned and mashed a pillow over his face.

"I can't imagine what you're still doing in bed at this hour," she said, "and your valet refuses to say anything more than that you slept poorly."

"Poorly is an understatement," James mumbled.

"Quiet in the bedroom, please," Sirius said, still half asleep in his bed.

Odette prodded James until he got up, and Sirius groggily cast a deafening charm on himself.

"Just because you can't manage Algernon doesn't mean he's unmanageable," James said, pulling on a shirt. "I can't help that he doesn't like you."

She stood with her back to James at his own insistence. "Does he normally vomit with such frequency?"

"Well, how frequent is frequent?"

"Too frequent."

James sighed, and wished he could share a look with his cat about his mother's lunacy. "He usually only sicks up as revenge. Stop punishing him for my mistakes and maybe he won't hate you anymore."

She sniffed. "After all I've done for him, I didn't expect this level of betrayal."

James didn't answer, instead ruffling his hair into something moderately more acceptable than what he'd woken up with. He didn't think Odette would like hearing that she deserved to deal with cat vomit for kidnapping his familiar.

"How are you finding Valerie?" Odette asked when he didn't respond.

"She's…decent." James tugged on his boots and stood up from his bed. "And now I'm decent."

"Decent is more than many people find in a spouse." She turned around and gave James a brisk onceover. "It'll do."

James bent over in an obnoxious bow, flailing his arm out to the side. She'd never cared what he wore, not until she'd started inviting women to stay in the castle.

"Your Royal Highness," he said, pitching his voice a shade lower than normal.

Odette gave him an unamused look. "Come along, James." She spun in place, her skirts flaring out around her. "We're going to be late for lunch."

He followed her down the tower staircase, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

"Sirius told me I should expect more from a wife than one who has breasts," James said.

"Breasts and decency." She nodded. "The two key foundations to any good woman."

She spoke with too much authority for this to be news to her.

"You two have discussed this, haven't you," James said flatly.

"Oh, once or twice. It's of concern to all of us whom you marry."

"I'm aware."

He stomped down a few steps ahead of her, knowing she couldn't keep up in her ridiculous, restrictive outfit.

Lily only wore practical clothing. Nothing ugly, just appropriate wear for a woman who spent most of her nights dodging around drunken loggers.

He didn't say anything further until Odette reached him at the bottom of the stairs.

"I can't believe Sirius talked to you about finding me a wife."

"Of course he talks to me – he told me we were mates and I hold him to that," she said. "He only brought it up because he cares about you, and this _is_ the most significant challenge in your life at the moment."

James felt like an idiot for getting that stupid, prickling feeling in the corners of his eyes because he already knew that was how his mother felt, and of course she'd think that because he'd never led her to believe otherwise. Getting angry with her for not seeing the much more pressing issue in his life was unfair when he hadn't told her about it.

Still, he was an adult, and it just wasn't on that one flippant comment from his mum could turn his mood around so suddenly.

"I suppose it is," he said around the lump in his throat.

Odette nattered away about the virtues of Valerie Turpin all the way to the Great Hall, and James hummed and nodded when it seemed appropriate, lost in his own thoughts and trying very hard to think about anything besides how little his mother seemed to know about her own son's life.

James took his seat next to Valerie at the table, but more than ever he wasn't in the mood to feign interest in her.

Well, feign wasn't quite the word. She was interesting enough, really, and pretty enough, and decent enough.

She just wasn't _enough_.

He could engage with her, and he passed the lunch hour discussing the beauty of the moors near her house, but he had no interest in proposing to her.

And apparently she suspected as much.

Toward the end of the meal, Valerie leaned in, maintaining a content smile, and said quietly, "James, am I wasting my time?"

He didn't _want_ to marry her, that much he knew for certain. But he'd have to marry someone eventually if he wasn't going to abdicate, and Lily hadn't shown any sign of acting on the feelings she'd admitted to having—except that had been a while ago, and it had been only a minor infatuation at the time, so maybe she didn't feel that way anymore—and there wasn't really a better option for him.

Besides, he was afraid his parents would give up Algernon for adoption if he didn't marry soon.

"I don't know," he said. Like her, he kept his tone hushed and pretended like she'd asked him about his opinion on types of tea.

"We get on well enough," she reminded him.

"We do."

She ducked her head a fraction, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I only ask because I don't like wasting my time. I'm interested. Let me know if you are."

"I know," he said, gripping his fork to keep his hand from running through his hair. "I'm sorry. I'm not—there's so much pressure."

He wanted to kick himself for being as indecisive as his father, but how could he choose when he wasn't sure that he wanted to be king, or when Lily hadn't technically declined his proposal?

He'd barely recovered from his mother's inadvertent wound, and now Valerie was rubbing salt in it.

"I'm happy enough to help you put an end to the pressure," she said.

She widened her eyes in innocence, but her stockinged foot began rubbing along his calf, her toe catching on his boot laces.

James froze.

"Please don't," he said quietly.

"All right," she said, unfazed, and she withdrew her foot. "I'll wait because I like you, but I won't wait forever."

He hoped his face wasn't as red as it felt. "That's reasonable enough. I'll let you know soon."

* * *

Despite his sour mood, he walked back into the Great Hall that afternoon with the perfect posture that had been forced onto him his entire childhood. The tables had been pushed back against the walls, and the guards had moved to flank each doorway. George sat at the high table with a scribe and a legal adviser, and James joined them, nodding in greeting.

His day had started off poorly, but he'd actually been looking forward to the hearing to help cheer him up. For once he thought there was a good chance his father might side with him. Historically they'd matched opinions on no more than half of the cases that escalated to the castle, but this time James thought the facts spoke for themselves. Not to mention that James had been exceptionally persuasive in his opinion.

James listened as his father read out the facts of the case once more, the accused on his knees in front of them, his shoulders trembling. James wanted to reach out and assure the man that justice would be served, that he needn't worry.

Not for the first time, James wished his father weren't so loquacious and would just get to the point.

But no, George had to read out all the previous related cases, and discuss their relevance, before finally making his concluding statements.

And apparently James had once more overestimated the similarities between himself and his father.

"Given all of these facts," George read out from a piece of parchment, "I find Angus Bones guilty of murder, with an order for life imprisonment."

James' stomach dropped.

The man began to bawl, and several guards dragged him out a side door.

James gripped his chair's armrest as he leaned over toward his father. "Didn't you read my opinion?" he asked in a low voice.

"I did," George said, picking up a parchment about the next case. "It was well written, but I'm afraid we drew different conclusions."

"But all those precedents I found—"

"There were plenty of precedents for both sides. It was not an easy case, but I felt the facts justified the punishment."

James had seen some of the opposing precedents, but there hadn't seemed to him to be enough to outweigh James' initial opinion.

How foolish he'd been to think he could change, to think he could be the person his country needed. Where it mattered—namely, other people's lives—he'd failed.

It didn't seem fair that James was technically the second most powerful man in the country and he couldn't stop a man from imprisonment. It didn't seem fair that he had to hide the fact that he was actually trying to do something about Slytherin's illegal border crossings just because his father wouldn't approve. It didn't seem fair that even though he'd been perfectly nice to Valerie and tolerated a great deal of inappropriate behavior, his parents still wouldn't give him back his damn cat.

He fought the urge to march out of the Great Hall and punch something until he forgot who he was, but he made himself sit through the remaining hearings because he knew he should. He didn't pay the best attention, but he was there and he managed to at least look engaged, even if his mind was running through a litany of curses for both of his parents.

The minute his father finished the last hearing of the day, James stood up and calmly walked out through a side door without a word to his father. He stopped in the corridor outside the Great Hall and waited for Terry to catch up to him, which he did in short order.

"To your room or to your study, sir?"

James' hands clenched into fists at his side, his fingernails digging into his palms. How could he forget? He was still more or less confined to his room after all he'd done because no one noticed and his work hadn't accomplished anything for anyone.

What he really wanted was to get drunk, but he didn't have anything in his room. His mates, on the other hand….

"Terry," James said, a cheery mask settling into place, "I appreciate how much you trust me, and I wanted you to know that I trust you. You've been a real friend about Lily, and I can't say how much that means to me."

Terry crossed his hands at the small of his back and bounced up on his toes, beaming. "Anything you need, sir."

"Would you mind—I know you're not supposed to, but I really need to speak to Remus. That hearing went horribly awry and I need Remus to talk me through some things."

This was not entirely a lie. Remus would make him feel better, and so would some gin.

"I'd be happy to bring him up to your tower," Terry hedged.

"No, that place—you can understand how much I'm growing to hate my own chambers," James said, as though Terry were a confidant.

"I can, sir. And if I might add, I sympathize."

"Right," James said, nodding. "You've got nothing to do but stare at a painting of a waterfall all day and night. Cruel instructions from my father for the both of us, don't you agree?"

"In a way, sir," Terry said slowly.

"So, can we go to Remus' chambers? Just for a little while. For a change of pace."

Terry hesitated, but said, "I suppose, sir. For a few minutes."

"Brilliant." James felt like he should smile but couldn't quite get his mouth to bend the right way. "Thank you."

Instead of facing his own thoughts on the walk to Remus' rooms, he asked Terry all the questions he'd never cared to ask before about Terry's life and family. James learned about Terry's younger siblings and his dog-obsessed mother and their small estate along the Ravenclaw border.

"And what are your aspirations in life, Terry?"

James didn't actually care, but he needed Terry to keep talking to keep James from imagining how his father would look with a newly blackened eye.

"Aspirations, sir?"

"What you want to do with your life."

"Why, I want to serve you, sir."

"No, I mean after you work for me."

Terry stopped in his tracks and wrung his hands together once. "If you're not satisfied with my services, sir, please let me know immediately so you might find someone who can better serve your needs."

"No, I'm not—" James reached out and clasped Terry's shoulder. "That's not what I meant at all. I just assumed you wouldn't want to be my valet forever."

"But I do, sir."

James didn't know how to respond to that level of certainty and devotion.

"I mean, yes," James said, "there's the prestige of working for the prince, but surely you'd like to find a different man to attend to, one who perhaps…hm, utilizes all of your services and, well, relishes them."

Terry lifted his chin and pushed his shoulders back. "Sir, I signed up because you were my prince and I felt it my duty to protect and serve you. Your father has since offered to assign me elsewhere several times, but I insisted on maintaining my post."

James frowned. "Why would you do that?"

"Because you need someone, sir, to look after you."

James didn't like that the conversation had turned back onto him and away from Terry. He knew an assessment of his own life would find him lacking.

"My parents and mates look after me," James said dismissively.

Terry shook his head. "It's not the same, sir. I beg your pardon, only those of us in the service profession—well, sir, we're often forgotten, and we hear things, and we see things."

James suspected he would regret the question, but he had to ask, "Like what?"

Terry wrung his hands together, this time more fiercely. "Like Lily, sir, and your leaving the castle to go to her pub when you can, and, well, that time you stayed with her. I fetched the cakes and you were still there when I came back, good as your word."

"Of course I was." James started to move forward again, but Terry didn't follow him. James turned back to him, now a few feet away, and added, "I said I'd stay, didn't I? So I did."

"Because you're a good man, sir, only I think…if I may."

James gave an impatient wave for him to continue.

"Only I think you're scared, sir, and I think you're half miserable more days than not, and I think you're in love with someone you could never be with, but you're doing her an enormous favor anyway just because you couldn't imagine not doing it."

James' mouth opened, and then it closed.

His own mother—the woman who'd raised him for eighteen years—couldn't see James for who he was, but Terry, whom James treated like a fly to be swatted away, saw all of James.

His insides seemed to catch fire, a slow burn born out of the wretchedness of the past few months—realizing his parents didn't know who he was anymore, deterring the advances of annoying women, trying his hardest and still feeling like he was going nowhere and that nothing would ever change for the better.

"I'm sorry, sir, I've said too much."

"No," James said, blinking and forcing his voice into something resembling normal, "you're right on the mark. I like people who feel free to tell me what they think."

It became very difficult to concentrate on anything other than how absurdly awful and unfair everything had become. But amid his maelstrom of thoughts shone a beacon of hope, a single thought his mind could hone in on: he needed to get to Lily. He wanted to and he deserved to and why shouldn't he? She'd make him feel better about life and the universe and everything. Damn his father and his restrictions. Damn his mother and Valerie. James' life was his to lead, and he couldn't bear to be in the castle anymore, so he would leave. Everyone else could fuck off.

"Terry," James said, his mouth moving of its own accord, "would you fetch me something to eat? I'm oddly famished and I'm not myself right now and I need—I need some food, all right?"

"You'll stay with Remus?"

"I promise I won't step outside his door while you're gone," James' mouth said.

"Then of course, sir."

Terry watched James knock on Remus' door, and he didn't leave until Remus let James in.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Remus said, moving back to the sofa near his window. "Are you being rewarded for good behavior?"

Peter lounged in an armchair, holding a cup of tea in one hand and his wand in the other. Several pieces of parchment were splayed out on the table in front of him, displaying wand movements, diagrams, and illegible strings of writing. "You and Valerie did seem awfully close at lunch," he said.

James barely processed that Peter was there. The rush of blood through his body had become deafeningly loud.

"Remus," James said, not recognizing his own voice. "Break the tracking charm."

Remus' face softened. "Your father would never forgive me."

"I won't tell him who did it."

"There are, practically speaking, only so many people to accuse," Remus said, "and I am one of them. It would be short work to examine my wand."

"Tell him I attacked you and got your wand from you and did it myself."

James knew he was getting nowhere when Remus gave him one of his kind, parental looks.

"Your father isn't the only concerned one, Prongs. I could never forgive myself were I to break the charm and something happened to you."

"Fine, then I'll ask Sirius. Where is he?"

"I expect he'll give the same answer as me."

"He's always up for an adventure," James said blankly.

He whirled around and marched through the door. He didn't know where Sirius was but he would find him through the mirrors. He should have known Remus wouldn't listen, wouldn't understand, but it was just one more disappointment in his life.

"Wait, James!" Peter rushed out of Remus' room after James. "I'll do it," he said quickly. "I'll break the charm."

James eyed Peter. "You're not just saying this so I get caught and my father can impose even more severe restrictions?"

"No. I'll take it off. You can even do it yourself." Peter held out his wand, handle-first. "Here."

Of course. Stupid, foolish James hadn't thought of Peter, who had never seemed particularly brave, but of course he would do this for James.

"You are fantastic," James said, and his smile felt a little manic, even to him. "Do it now, before Terry comes back."

* * *

Heavy clouds filtered out the sun as James tromped through a fresh snowfall and into the pub. He stomped the snow off his boots inside the door, his eyes darting around in search of Lily.

It wasn't difficult to find her – this early in the afternoon, the room housed only a handful of patrons. Lily stood talking to an elderly man at a corner table, but she glanced at the door when she heard it open, and then glanced again when she saw it was James.

She held up a finger to the man and said something James couldn't hear, then walked over to James, a curious expression on her face.

"Fancy meeting you here, Rapunzel," she said.

He hadn't moved from his spot inside the door. Now that he'd made it to the pub, to Lily, he didn't know what to do next.

"I…ran away again."

Words were such funny things. Why had he always liked them? They were crap.

"I did guess as much," she said.

He stood and drank in the sight of her, beautiful despite the slight bags under her eyes, the hair that could use with a wash, and a smudge of dirt on her left ear.

This was where he needed to be.

The slow burn of anger sputtered and died, leaving him terribly, achingly hollow. His muscles throbbed with sudden exhaustion, and he let out a deep breath.

Her eyes went wide. "Unless—tell me you didn't abdicate."

"No. I just ran away, for a bit. Can we—can we sit down?"

"Yes, of course."

She seemed unusually cautious of him as she led him to the empty bar, shouting for McNamee to come out to cover the front.

"What happened?" she asked as he took a seat across from the bar from her. "You seem…off."

She saw him. Of course she did. And her concern did the trick, the trigger that carried it all out of him in one fell swoop.

"I tried, Lily," he said, his voice rough. "I tried to do it and I can't. I can't be prince or king. I've been trying to shape up and do the things I know I'm supposed to do but I can't. I can't pay attention to all the meetings and I don't always know what people are talking about and I can't even persuade my father a man is innocent."

"James," she said gently.

"And I'm going to have to marry someone I don't really want to and my mother doesn't know how unhappy I've been and the only thing I care about these days is seeing you."

She reached over and clasped his hand. "It's all right," she said softly. "You can't expect to be a perfect prince in a matter of days."

"No, but it's—it's all of that. I needed to get out of there, and I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I thought—I wanted to see you."

She squeezed his hand, then pulled away to lean back against the far side of the bar. "There were a lot of things in there, but start by telling me about this innocent man."

So he did, in painful detail. It all poured out of him in a mostly coherent stream, but she nodded, and smiled, and frowned when he needed her to.

She didn't interrupt and she didn't scold and she didn't judge, and James fell all the harder for her for being so astonishingly wonderful.

"So…yeah," he said, finally feeling contentedly empty. "I've had a bit of a shit time lately."

"Apparently." She tapped her fingers on the ledge next to her. "Would you like an honest opinion right now?"

"Honestly, no."

"Pity I don't care whether you want to hear it or not, because you need to hear it." She gave him a reassuring smile. "The thing is, James, you say you can't do it, but I don't believe you because you haven't answered an important question."

"The question being…."

"Are you satisfied with how hard you tried?"

He pushed a hand through his hair, and he noticed that her eyes tracked the movement with interest. "My father clearly wasn't—"

"It doesn't matter what he thinks. He's going to die one of these days. Do _you_ feel like you tried?"

"What does it matter if I tried?" He ruffled his hair, watching her watch him. "Trying alone isn't enough."

"Trying is one of the hardest things you can do," she said, unexpectedly fierce. "It's easy to say you could do it if you tried. Once you try, though, you put yourself out there. One of the worst feelings in the world is trying and feeling left wanting, like you weren't good enough, but you should revel in the fact that you tried, James. That's more than a lot of people ever do, and if they ever criticize you for trying, tell them to shove it. Because you can't do any better than your best effort, and how can you ever get better at anything if you don't try?"

"Well…." His mouth nearly argued out of instinct, but he gave it more than a moment's thought and said, "I did try, actually."

"Then that's all that matters. You tried, but you weren't the decision maker, so you did everything you could have."

He wanted to believe her, he did, but there was an obvious retort.

"Trying isn't always enough, though," he said. "It wasn't enough for that man at the hearing."

"Oh, don't worry too much about that. You can pardon him when you're king."

"Oh." He blinked. "Right."

The invisible band that had wound itself around his chest at the hearing snapped, and James could breathe again.

Yes, his problems still awaited him at the castle, but they seemed somehow less threatening in her presence. For now it was just him and Lily in the pub, and he didn't have any responsibilities besides trying to make her laugh.

"You keep forgetting you won't be prince forever," she said.

"More like I'm trying not to remember."

She gave him a kind, fond look, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to leap over the bar and kiss her.

"There's responsibility with it," she said, "but tremendous freedom, too."

He grinned at her, feeling something close to happy for the first time since—well, since he'd last seen her. "I suppose when I'm king I can go wherever I bloody please. Can I still come visit you then?"

"Only if you feel like causing an uproar in my pub."

"You can come visit me in the castle, then."

"I suppose that would be an acceptable solution. So long as I can enter through the front door like everyone else."

"It's a deal." It wasn't what he ultimately wanted, but at least she was open to an ongoing connection to him. "Now that I've gone and blathered on about my life, tell me about yours. I'm dying to hear about anything unrelated to castle affairs."

"Oh, well, hm." She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I really don't know, James. My life is mostly the pub."

"It's your life for now," he said, leaning forward, "but is that all you want to do? I mean, if you want a job, I can get you a job. Doing nearly anything, I expect."

She cocked her head. "I've got a job."

"But is that what you want to do forever?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say. I can't predict the future."

James nodded. "Fair enough. I mean, we've got someone for predicting the future but she's dead awful at it."

"You've got someone who can see the future," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Divination isn't real magic, in my opinion, but my father keeps Trelawney around anyway. I think Dumbledore makes him? But I've no idea why they bother."

"Matches into needles is one thing, but predicting the future…. It's amazing, actually, how complex and varied magic can be. I've got so much to learn."

"You'll get there. I'm sure of it."

And he was. She was wicked smart and dedicated. She would be a marvelous witch once she got her own wand.

"Let's hope so." Lily's mouth curved into a mischievous smile. "Maybe I can learn how to fix windows someday."

"Or keep unsavory patrons out of your pub."

"If I did that, you'd never be allowed past the door."

"I take offense to that."

"You take offense at the drop of a hat. Including my comments about your stupid hat."

"It's a pretty terrible hat," he admitted. "But my mother made it."

"Then I take back all comments about the hat because that's adorable," she said, unable to suppress a smile. She leaned forward to rest her forearms on the edge of the bar.

"But as long as we're discussing you offending me," he said, his heart beating a little faster now, "I would like to point out how long I've delayed bringing something up again, and the fact that delaying it so long is in fact evidence of my prowess."

"Sometimes I literally have no idea what you're talking about, but I'm sure whatever I say here is irrelevant anyway."

"You were worried I'd be premature."

She let out a sharp bark of laughter and stood upright, folding her arms over her chest. "Oh, good lord."

"How many days have I waited to bring this up again?" He gave her a knowing look. "Many. Many, many days."

"And that's supposed to impress me."

"I stayed focused in the moment at the time, did I not? Sure, I could've bantered with you, and I could've done really well at it, but I thought, no, we're having a serious discussion that shouldn't be tarnished, unlike certain other individuals in the room."

"You were having a serious discussion with yourself, at best. I was stuck in a room with a lunatic."

"Harsh words, Lily Evans."

"Liar," she said, daring him to disagree.

"All right, I concede that one."

She smiled in triumph, and he knew he'd made the right decision in coming here.

He would deal with his father's consequences later, but this moment, her sharp laugh and keen eyes, made it worth it.

* * *

"I need you to promise me you'll do something when you're king," Lily said.

He'd stayed at his barstool as the pub filled up with the evening rush, the room darkening with the setting sun, and then watched again as those same patrons filed out throughout the night.

Lily hadn't stayed by his side the whole time, of course, but she stopped by every now and then to say hello when he wasn't talking to a new stranger.

Now it was the two of them on one end of the bar again, with McNamee serving the few remaining customers.

"Name it," James said.

"Find the other witches and wizards like me."

James blinked. He hadn't really given the matter much thought after establishing that he'd teach her magic, and he'd completely forgotten about Dumbledore's errant comment on the matter.

"I'll have to talk to Dumbledore," he said, "but I'll give it a go."

"They may not be noble, but they have just as much right to learn magic as I do."

She seemed dead serious, and James had to admit he agreed. He'd felt that way about Lily, after all. She deserved to learn, and so did these mysterious other anomalies.

"What are you proposing, exactly?" he asked. "I'm not sure we want to give them books and wands and call it a day. I mean, even I think that would be pretty bloody dangerous."

"I'm proposing…well, a school. It doesn't have to be just for people like me, but for anyone, if they'll come. Although nobles might not want to consort with us commoners."

James rubbed his chin. "That could work. It would certainly create some standards, instead of the roughshod tutoring lower nobles receive right now. We could get McGonagall to teach there, I bet."

"We'd need a location, of course." Her enthusiasm showed despite her best efforts – she'd clearly been thinking about this for some time. "Somewhere big enough to house a lot of students, potentially."

"I'll try to think of some ideas for that. We have plenty of property, after all, and there must be a way to find the others like you."

"Well," she said, looking away from him and out into the pub, "we already know of at least one other magical common person."

He didn't want to get into that argument again – he didn't think they'd ever agree without evidence one way or the other, so he asked the easier question. "Are you speaking to Snape again?"

"No," she said, her voice low. "Not yet."

He remembered how when he'd first met Lily he'd been concerned that she might use his status against him. She'd obviously been no threat at all, but now someone else knew his identity. If Snape had reason to despise James even more than he used to, and if he was truly a Slytherin spy, then James might be in much more danger than he'd thought.

James glanced around the pub, eyeing the remaining patrons. "I'm sure he'll apologize eventually," he said absently.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course," he said, putting on a more confident tone than he felt. "I'm free, I'm here, you're here. Does a man need more in life?"

"Ale."

"Yes, that too. Fetch me some?"

"Only if you say the magic word."

"You're a riot. I like that in a woman."

"Don't you dare propose again."

"Oh, and I was just trying to think up a new phrasing."

"Save it for someone else."

"There isn't anyone I'd rather marry."

"Actually," she said, suddenly examining her fingernails, "word in the pub is you've got a potential wife hanging about the castle."

James scowled. "Don't these people have better things to worry about than who I marry?"

"Your decision does affect them." She still wasn't looking at him.

"I have plenty of pressure from everyone else on this," he said stiffly. "I don't need you to be one of them."

"There's no pressure from me," she assured him, and he wondered how he'd missed that her shoulders had gone tense.

He realized, belatedly, that she hadn't brought it up because of her patrons.

"Why do you care if some woman is here in an attempt to woo me?" he asked. He didn't want to be cocky, but what other reason—

She finally looked back up at him.

He'd seen her face shut down before, but not like this.

"She's wooing you?"

How awful that he reveled in the way her voice caught in her throat.

"I don't know what else I would call it." He wanted to press Lily, but he knew he shouldn't…but he did anyway. "Why do you ask?"

"Curiosity, is all." She inspected her hands again. "She would be my queen, too."

"That's not why you asked."

He knew it, he could feel how right he was, and it felt wonderful, like winning a never-ending Quidditch match.

"Are you calling me a liar?" she asked.

"I am," he said quietly.

She tried to maintain eye contact with him, but her gaze dropped again.

"Even if I am," she said, "please don't…don't go into it."

His heart beat out a wild rhythm. He wanted nothing more than to get into it, but she'd asked and her requests always seemed impossible to deny.

"All right," he said. "I won't. But yes, she is pursuing me."

She seemed to war with herself for a moment before asking, "Is it working?"

"She's not the woman I'm interested in."

Lily gave a sharp but shallow nod to herself.

He was glad he could console her, even if she wouldn't outright admit she was jealous, because she had all but admitted she cared.

She _cared_.

"Besides," he said, "I feel rather a prick offering to marry someone else when I still consider myself to be waiting for someone else's response."

Maybe, finally, she would consider him.

But she gave him an inscrutable smile. "And you'll be waiting until a quarter to always."

He couldn't decide whether she thought he was joking about his proposals or whether she was kindly declining without saying as much.

He'd tried to take it slowly up until that point, not pushing because he'd thought he'd have all winter to persuade her, but Valerie was insisting. And if Lily wouldn't marry him, he didn't really have a better option. He was running out of time.

"You know," he said, intensely aware of every limb, of every heartbeat, "you haven't actually declined."

"Declining would imply that you were actually asking."

He still couldn't read her and it was driving him mad. There seemed to be no other choice than to force the issue.

"Lily," he said, "I know you think I'm a bit of a lunatic, and a bit of a liar—and I'll grant you that you're not wrong about either—but I'm not lying and I'm not mad when I ask if you'll marry me."

And her blank mask shattered, and she looked as torn and conflicted as he did.

"Even if I wanted to, I can't," she said, and James told himself he wasn't imagining the dash of frustration in her voice. "I've given you plenty of reasons why it wouldn't be possible."

"And I've given you plenty of reasons why it would. There's truly no one else I'd rather have."

"James." She was pleading a little now, not for him to stop asking, but for him to stop praising her.

"It's funny, you know," he said, calm and pleased that he finally knew where she stood. "You see so much good in me, or at least the potential for it, but you won't see it in yourself."

"I do see my potential," she argued, "I just can't picture myself as queen."

"And what about as my wife?"

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I barely know you."

"Liar," he said, his voice low and confident.

At least she had the decency to reluctantly nod in agreement.

"Look," he said, "I trusted you when you told me I could be a decent monarch. Now I'm telling you the same. Have some faith in yourself."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "I have plenty of faith in myself."

"Not enough. Or maybe you're afraid that it will make you unhappy."

She gave him a disapproving look, but that was what he wanted.

"You know that's not what it's about," she said.

He'd trapped her now, and his mouth slanted into a terse smile. "Then marry me and get more meaning than you could find in any other position."

She dropped her arms to the side. "Please stop proposing."

"Why?" he challenged.

"Because I asked you to."

And that was it, though, wasn't it? He would stop because she asked.

He sighed. "As the lady wishes."

Still, he didn't consider the conversation a total loss. She hadn't been completely opposed to the idea, and he hoped he could persuade her before Valerie gave him an ultimatum. And she'd all but admitted she cared for him, which was enough to make him feel invincible.

By this time of the night he supposed his parents would be ready to murder him, and he could tell he'd worn Lily out. He bid her a fond farewell and glanced back at her from the door. She was still standing behind the bar, her arms folded as she watched him leave. He gave a weak wave, and she raised a hand in response, smiling faintly.

He stepped out onto the street feeling like a different person than the one who'd walked in hours ago. He should have felt like he was walking to the gallows as he stumbled through the tunnel to Hogwarts, but instead he felt content, and whole.

Also cold. He wished the James of several hours ago had thought to bring a bloody cloak.

He started whistling as he pushed the mirror out into the corridor, just enough that a sliver of candlelight slanted across his boots, and listened for the echoing footsteps of passersby.

Satisfied he was alone, he ducked through the passageway and gently pressed the mirror back against the wall.

He wondered how long it would take for someone to find him, and how outraged his father would be, and how long it would be until he stepped in the sun again, all in a detached sort of way.

As he strolled down the fifth floor corridor en route to his room, McGonagall came hurrying around the corner, one hand clutching her skirts, and nearly ran into James. He was impressed with her speed, considering her age, and he managed to step aside just in time to avoid colliding with her.

But she didn't stop and instead wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

She'd never done that before, not once.

"James!" she said.

"Er," James said.

"Thank Merlin you're safe."

"I only went into the village," James offered. "No harm done."

She held him back at arm's length, and he finally noticed the tears on her cheeks.

"You've only just returned?" she asked.

James nodded warily, cool tendrils of dread creeping over him.

"Oh, James," she said, her voice breaking. "They broke into the castle, and your mother…. She lost too much blood, and the healer—he couldn't save her."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

James heard the words, but he couldn't fathom them as a reality.

"What?" he said. "_What_?"

McGonagall's head whipped around, scanning the empty corridor. "Quickly," she said. "To your father's study."

She dragged him by the forearm up a flight of stairs and around a corner, her nails digging through his shirt into his skin.

James didn't protest, too caught up wondering whether or not she was serious.

Because surely she was joking. His mother couldn't be dead, not really. He'd seen her only that morning, alive and well and, yes, he'd been angry with her, but he'd never wished her dead, she couldn't be—

And yet.

McGonagall was not cruel, and she was no liar. If she said his mother had been killed….

His heartbeat stuttered.

He wanted to speak, to beg McGonagall to tell him she didn't mean it, that she was playing a part in another one of George's lessons—

Oh, that _had_ to be it. It had to be a lesson. James had snuck out again and his father, his fucking bastard _father_, was toying with James' emotions again.

That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

McGonagall stopped outside George's office and rapped an odd rhythm onto the door.

"If this is another one of my father's attempts to teach me a lesson," James warned.

"Oh, James," she said, turning to him and sniffling.

"No," he said weakly. "No, it's a lesson, she can't—"

Terry opened the door, looking pale and exhausted. "James! Oh, thank Merlin."

McGonagall kept her grip on James, holding him close to her side. "I found him wandering the corridors," she told Terry. "Take care of him. I'm on search duty if you require my services."

She drew James into a brief, deep hug, then shoved him into the office before darting off again.

James had barely heard the conversation around him. He was stuck in his head, circling around on the same path, insisting that this was clearly an elaborate ruse designed to make him feel sorry for what he'd done and, oh, if he wasn't going to _murder _his father for doing this again—

Only one look at George, hunched over in an armchair, a bloody rag held to his forearm and a look of utter despair on his face, destroyed any notion that McGonagall had been joking.

"No," James repeated. A chasm ruptured in his chest, and he began to draw in quick, shallow breaths. "She can't be…."

"James," George said, his voice frayed. He climbed to his feet with visible effort.

"No!"

"James."

George took a trembling step toward James, and another, and James took a step back.

"She's NOT DEAD!" James shouted, as though saying it louder would make it true. "This is one of your bloody schemes!"

His father stepped again, and James didn't have the ability to move anymore, not when the hole inside him threatened to consume him at any moment.

George wrapped his good arm around James and pulled him close.

"No," James said, choking on the word. "She's not—"

George gripped James tightly. "I'm sorry."

James thought dispassionately that he would be thoroughly bruised and bloodied come morning through no fault of his own, but then that thought floated away and was sucked into the chasm with everything else, leaving James with the horrid, repulsive, unbelievable reality that his mother was gone and would not be coming back, would not tell him more ridiculous stories or torment his cat or ruffle his hair.

He wanted to die, to stop existing, anything so long as he wouldn't have to be himself for a moment longer.

He began heaving great wracking sobs, and he felt his father's chest force out a jagged rhythm of its own.

They stood there, the only thing keeping the other standing, until James lost track of time, unable to focus on anything other than how empty he felt.

Empty, but for once around his father, not alone.

* * *

James awoke slowly, in a daze, when he felt paws pattering over his abdomen.

"It's too early, Algernon," he grumbled.

Then James shot up in bed, and his cat landed deftly on his lap.

"Algernon," he said, and he told himself he wasn't going to start crying again.

Algernon rubbed himself against James' chest, purring.

"It's okay. I'm here," James said quietly, petting Algernon's head. "You're mine."

Padfoot, curled up at the foot of James' bed, lifted his head and shot James an annoyed look.

"Go back to sleep," James told him.

Padfoot snorted and let his head drop back onto the duvet.

James' eyes ached, but his brain was miserably awake. He lay back down, and Algernon settled into a ball on James' chest, rumbling a little as James lightly stroked his back.

His mother was dead.

Killed by Slytherin.

James had had no choice but to tell his father about the tunnels. Every single one he knew about.

Lily wouldn't have her lessons anymore, and that hurt, but not as much as the gaping hole in his chest.

He should've told his father about the tunnels sooner. Yes, it meant he truly would have been confined, but then his mother would have been alive.

Probably.

He knew it wasn't certain, but it seemed very plausible. The killer would have had to find a less convenient method into the castle.

It occurred to James that Snape might have followed him at some point into Honeydukes or the post office. James would probably never know, but he suspected Snape all the same.

Much too soon after James had finally let go of his father, feeling wholly gutted, Dumbledore had come in to share his findings. The killer had somehow penetrated the castle, but he appeared to have been working alone. A quick examination of the killer's corpse—he'd felled Odette but had underestimated George—had revealed the same ink marking as the other Slytherins'.

George had sent Terry and several other guards to accompany James back to his room and stand guard. Of course, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had jumped on James the moment he stepped out of his father's study, and they'd kept closest to him on the walk up to the tower.

James lifted his head, trying not to disturb Algernon in the process. He saw Remus and Peter, still asleep in Sirius' bed, and allowed himself one moment of appreciation for his friends before allowing misery to sweep over him again.

* * *

He awoke again late in the day, and Sirius dragged him out of bed and into an armchair while Terry brought in bowls of porridge. Sirius waved his off, but both Terry and Sirius insisted James take one.

Remus and Peter had briefly disappeared to their rooms to change, leaving Sirius and James alone and silent by the fire.

"On a scale of one to agony, how bad is it?" Sirius asked with unusual caution.

"Eleven," James said, his voice rough.

Sirius looked unhappier, if that was possible, and James supposed he couldn't fully relate to James. Sirius hated his mother—James hated her, too, but with slightly less enthusiasm—and would probably rejoice when she died.

"Why did you run off yesterday?" Sirius said.

James poked his spoon into his breakfast. "I had to see Lily. I just—I needed to see her."

Although he was eager to discuss any topic to get his mind off his mother, this was not a conversation he'd wanted to have. His father hadn't asked, likely too grateful that James had been spared by coincidence.

"She was coming tonight for her lesson," Sirius said. "You couldn't wait another day?"

James let the spoon clatter against the bowl. "What does it matter? It's a good thing I left or they might've killed me, too."

"Remus said you looked half-mad yesterday."

"And I might say I'm completely mad today."

"I'm your best mate, James." Sirius leaned forward in his seat. "I know your particular brand of lunacy. Something happened to set you off and you don't want to tell me because you're ashamed."

"Everything happened, all right?" James said, a pitch too close to hysterical. "Just—everything. The hearing and my father and Valerie and—"

He was going to finish with his mother, but he couldn't name her, couldn't blame her now.

Sirius looked at the floor. "I would've gone with you."

"I know," James said, softening. "I know you would have, but Peter offered to take off the charm, and I knew I had limited time, and I—I wasn't thinking clearly."

"You went to her for help."

James should have foreseen Sirius' reaction to this, but like so many other issues, he'd ignored it in his desperation.

"No, I mean, yes, I did," James said, "but it wasn't—she's got a different perspective than you do."

Sirius seemed to be wrestling with himself. He had that glint in his eye that he got when he was about to blow up at someone, but he managed to restrain himself and wrenched his gaze from the floor back to James.

"Did she at least fix you?" Sirius demanded.

"In a way. Not that it matters since now I'm broken again."

"You'll mend."

"So they say, but I'm skeptical. They say a lot of things. I don't trust Them."

James wasn't trying to be funny, but Sirius' mouth curved up at one end.

"I miss her, too," Sirius said.

She'd been a bit mad, a lot passionate, and just enough caring, most of the time.

It seemed impossible that the world continued existing in her absence. He had to remind himself that she wouldn't barge in at any moment and tell him some ludicrous story about the German envoy's valet's sister.

When James had eaten his fill, which wasn't much, he asked Terry to dress him, and Sirius stepped outside into the stairwell.

Normally Terry made small, harmless comments while James dressed, about the weather that day or reminders to himself about repairing tears in James' clothes.

James had never noticed until that morning, when Terry said nothing.

"You're awfully quiet today," James said after a while.

"Forgive me," Terry said tersely. "I'm not in the best of moods."

"Of course not."

James hadn't thought of Terry as being particularly close to Odette, but he supposed she was the queen, after all.

But then he remembered that there was something else Terry would probably be upset about, something James had done, and his stomach clenched.

"Would you accept temporary madness as an excuse?" James said.

"Sir?"

"I realize I broke my word yesterday."

"You did, sir," Terry said, with a whiff of tartness.

"I apologize. It wasn't fair to you."

"No, sir, it was not."

"It was the only time I'll do that to you. I promise. I only—there's no excuse. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you like that."

Terry pressed his lips together and nodded tightly.

"Apology accepted, sir." He stepped back to inspect James' outfit one last time. "I hope Lily is well."

"She's fine," James said, and despaired of seeing her again.

"She's a nice girl. I prefer her to Valerie Turpin."

James surprised himself when he found himself letting out a short laugh.

"Me, too, Terry. Me too."

When James made for the door, Algernon hissed, and James had to explain to him that, much to James' dismay, cats would not be welcome where James was going. Algernon reluctantly stayed behind, and Terry and Sirius escorted James downstairs to the Great Hall, where a massive group of advisers, castle staff, envoys, and other people James didn't recognize had gathered to hear the official announcement. James stood by his father's side in front of the high table, looking appropriately solemn without even trying.

Valerie made a beeline for James as soon as he stepped down into the crowd. "I'm so glad you're all right," she said, swooping in and reaching out to clasp James' hand.

"Thank you," James said automatically.

Of course he wasn't all right, he was worlds away from all right, and he didn't know if he could ever chart a course back to the realm of tolerable, much less all right.

"She was a wonderful woman. I'm going to miss her."

"Yes."

He knew he needed to say more, he needed to persuade Valerie that he liked her well enough, he needed to demonstrate to his father his dedication to his position…but he couldn't summon the effort to care.

"She was very proud of you," Valerie said. "I know she only ever wanted the best for you."

He could've gone on about how Valerie had no idea what the hell she was talking about, that she barely knew Odette, and she didn't even know how much James had hated her on the last day of her life. He opened his mouth to tell her all that, but he restrained himself.

She wasn't the one he needed to talk to.

"James," she said gently.

"Sorry. I'm rather…in shock."

"I rather noticed."

"Thank you for your condolences," he said, and she answered with a tight smile.

Most of the conversations he had followed a similar script—about what a wonderful woman Odette was and how much they'd all miss her— and he suffered from a mental pause every time someone referred to her in the past tense.

Sirius stuck to his side once James had been sufficiently nonresponsive enough that Valerie wandered off. Sirius didn't speak to James much, but that was how James preferred it.

After James had been tossed around from person to person and shaken more hands than he could count, he retreated to a corner for a cup of water and a moment of quiet.

He nearly dropped his cup when someone touched his elbow.

"Merlin, Terry," James said, glad he'd just finished drinking.

"Sir, I requested to take you back to your room and your father agreed," Terry said. "You're not confined, he said to tell you, but he thinks you look pretty well worn out."

James sighed a breath of relief. "Thank you. Really."

* * *

"'Lo, Remus." James called out but didn't look up from his sprawled out position on his bed when he heard the knock, lest he disturb Algernon where he slept in a ball on James' chest.

Remus entered quietly, as he always did, and James heard him sigh. "When did you last eat?"

"I'm not sure," James said with mild interest. "What time is it?"

"Nearly dinnertime."

"Then I'm still not sure. I think this morning?"

"James."

"I'll eat. In a minute. I've nearly sunk into the mattress, you see, and I blocked off my whole afternoon to work on this new goal of mine."

James' brain was too preoccupied pretending it didn't exist to pay any attention to the words coming out of his mouth.

"I'll have Terry send something along," Remus said.

"He needs a break soon. Put Crabtree on duty for a while so Terry can sleep."

"Not quite yet, if you don't mind," Remus said, a strange lilt in his voice. "I requested he stay on a little longer."

"I like Terry now," James warned. "Be nice to him."

"It's nothing unkind, I promise."

Someone else knocked at the door, and James had learned this knock, too, by now.

The one person he really, truly wanted to see walked in. James closed his eyes, unsure he was ready to face her already.

"I'll be back in a little while," Remus said, and he stepped out into the stairwell, the door thudding shut behind him.

"James," Lily said, her voice uncertain.

"I'm awake," he clarified. "I'm just pretending I'm dead."

"Don't joke about that."

He started composing a reply in his head about being the prince but he couldn't finish it. He'd longed for her comforting presence all day, but her sudden arrival somehow made his mother's death more real, more permanent. Unlike his mates, she knew what he was going through.

She approached him slowly, and he felt the mattress dip by his feet when she sat down.

Algernon stirred on his chest, unfurling and then stretching out. He hopped off of James and padded over to Lily.

"Hello, Algernon," she said softly.

James opened his eyes to watch Algernon butt his head against Lily's outstretched hand, tentatively at first and then with fondness. She began petting Algernon between his ears, and he plopped down next to her looking very content.

"How did you get in this time?" James asked. "I told them about the tunnels."

She smiled without humor. "Remus brought me through a side gate and implied…something unsavory."

That was enough to get James to sit up.

"Remus did what."

"I promised I wouldn't say more," she said, now stroking Algernon's tail. "He came to tell me about your mother and I insisted he get me through. I had to come to say…how sorry I am to hear about your mother."

"Thanks," he said automatically, "but I don't know if you can make me feel any better."

"I can certainly try, can't I?"

He thought about making some smart remark about why trying wouldn't be enough…except he wasn't sure that was entirely true.

"It wasn't your fault," she added.

He swallowed. "It was, though. I knew about the tunnels and I knew Slytherin had been sending spies into Hogsmeade shops but I didn't make the connection and I didn't do anything. I'm just as awful as my father."

He didn't want to accuse Snape of following James to the tunnels, not when she was being so kind.

"And what should you have done instead?" she said.

"Insisted on my father taking Slytherin more seriously. Started trying to find the spies as soon as we found the first one. Had them block off the tunnels."

"Do you know for a fact that they entered through the tunnels?"

"No, but it's pretty bloody likely."

"James." She met his gaze and spoke with confidence. "You are not responsible for the security of this castle. Yes, you probably should've said something, but that doesn't make it your fault. Slytherin killed your mother, not you."

James had been waiting for someone to tell him this. Unfortunately his chest still ached and his lungs couldn't seem to hold enough air, but it helped, a little, to hear her say it.

"I'm going to abdicate," he said. "I should. It would be best for everyone."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I am, though." He looked at his lap. "I couldn't prevent my own mother from being killed. How could I protect our entire country?"

"You can't abdicate," she said, more gently than he'd expected.

"Why shouldn't I?" he said, his voice ragged.

"You know why. James, focus. Your mother died—"

"Trust me, I haven't forgotten."

She gave him a disapproving look. "And it wasn't at your hand. Maybe you made a mistake but you owned up to it, and that's what matters."

"Not in time, though. I can't undo this injustice when I take the throne."

"Admittedly not. Unless that's a branch of magic I've yet to learn about."

"Necromancy never ends well," he muttered.

She looked thoroughly disgusted, but just for a moment.

"You're upset," she said. "You're grieving. Please don't make any hasty decisions about abdication right now."

It wasn't fair that she could make him feel so much better by saying the same things he'd told himself.

"I won't because you asked me not to," he promised. "For now."

"Good," she said firmly.

"And thank you," he added. "For coming to see me."

"I wanted to. I know—I know how I felt when I lost my mother, and I didn't want you to be alone."

He nodded, hoping to hide how deeply her kindness struck him.

"I wish I could have met her," she said. "She sounds terribly interesting."

Her use of the present tense triggered James' tear ducts. He felt like he had to correct her, and that only reminded him of what he'd lost. The lump in his throat tightened again.

"I miss her so much," he said, his voice breaking, and damned if he wasn't crying again, how did he have any tears left for this round?

"It hurts, James, I know it hurts." She slid fully onto the bed, minding her skirts, to sit next to him. She threaded her arm along his, so their inner forearms were pressed together, and entwined her hand with his—not in the dainty way Valerie had earlier, but with full purpose and shared grief.

And they sat there in silence, James cross-legged, Lily with her legs straight out, their hands tightly clasped, and James had never felt closer to anyone in his life.

Stupidly, insanely, after a while he began to think about kissing her, but that was ridiculous because he was still fighting back tears every twenty minutes and she wouldn't agree to marry him and it seemed like too much of a juxtaposition to their innocent but meaningful hand-holding.

"I won't see you for some time after this, I expect," she said after he'd calmed down again.

"I doubt Remus can keep sneaking you in, even under those pretenses."

"And you'll be locked up in your tower." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Rapunzel."

He smiled as much as he could, which wasn't much, but it was enough.

"I can't—you're the best person I've ever met," he said.

"James."

"It's true. That's not me flirting, that's just…me. Saying it. For no reason other than you deserve to hear it."

She squeezed his hand. "You're not at all who I expected you to be. Thank you for proving me wrong, about noble blokes."

"That we're not all that bad?"

She slanted a smile at him. "You're so much more than a prince, James. I wish you could see it."

He wanted to ask her again if she'd marry him, but he didn't, and she seemed relieved for it.

"Until later, then," he said.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, all right? I know you feel like shit now but you'll get through this. I promise. Write to me if it makes you feel better." She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, and James' heart shuddered. "Goodbye for now."

* * *

"Father," James said. He spared a glance toward the door from where he sat in his favorite chair with Algernon curled up on his lap.

His father looked impeccably dressed, as usual, and the healer had conducted a miracle with potions overnight. George looked well, but James knew enough to see the slight hunch of his shoulders and the bags under his eyes.

"James."

"What brings you to my tower?"

His father gave a resigned sigh. "You know what I'm here about."

The tenuous peace James had felt since Lily left shattered.

"For Merlin's sake," James snapped, "we're having this discussion now?"

"When else are we supposed to have it? I miss your mother, too, James, but we have to be sensible."

"Oh, yes, let's be _sensible_."

George moved to stand next to James' chair, one arm still stiff, and James shifted his attention to petting Algernon.

"You believe that this is the topic I would choose to discuss at this time," George said, "were it not of the utmost importance?"

"I'm sorry, please come back another time. Currently grieving is my top priority but I might have some time available for wooing women next month. I'll see if I can't pencil it in sometime before my birthday."

"You know what I have to say," George said simply. "I know what you have to say."

"Fantastic. I'll consider our conversation over, then."

Algernon lifted his head up in interest, giving an inquisitive look to James. James shook his head, though, and Algernon let his head sink down again.

"I'm aware you believe otherwise, but I'm not completely heartless." His father placed a firm hand on James' shoulder. "Tell me about the girl."

James didn't let his eyes waver from Algernon. "What girl?"

"The one in Hogsmeade."

James pressed his lips together, willing his body not to betray the panic spreading through it. "Who says there's a girl in Hogsmeade?"

"Nor am I a fool." Surprisingly, George sounded vaguely sympathetic. "Who do you suppose allowed her into the castle earlier? I recognize that lovesick expression you've been wearing as of late."

George had known James fancied someone and he'd still forced Valerie onto him? James had been angry before, but now—he was terribly glad he didn't have a wand. He didn't know what he would do if he were armed.

"Recognize it from when?" James asked. "I've never been lovesick."

"From myself, when I fell in love with your mother."

"Which wasn't when you met her."

"No, it wasn't, but it grew, over time, as it will with you and—whomever you wed."

James had suspicions that his father had been about to say Valerie, and that needled at James, that George was so certain James would propose to her.

"Whoever this girl is," George said, "however wonderful she is, you can't marry a Muggle."

James restrained himself from shouting that she wasn't, and that she was more than wonderful, she was extraordinary.

"Even if there were a girl, what do you care?" James said. "Do you doubt my virtue?"

"We're moving back to Newcastle tomorrow to prepare for your mother's funeral."

James' gaze jumped back to his father, his whole being paralyzed for a moment.

"I thought you would like to say goodbye to her, before we go," George said. "Unless there is no girl."

"No, there's—I need to say goodbye."

George nodded. "Take Heaney with you, then, and be quick about it."

"Terry Heaney? He's not much protection."

"He's an exceptionally accomplished dueler, James. Didn't you read the qualifications I sent you?"

"Er, no."

George sighed. "I'll assign a few other guards as well. Don't do anything rash, please. Out, goodbye, and back, all right?"

"Yes," James said, trying not to be resentful. "Thank you."

George clapped him on the shoulder and showed himself out.

So that was it, James thought blankly. They were leaving months early and maybe leaving Lily behind.

He really, really hoped she'd changed her mind.

* * *

"Lily."

She whirled around, sloshing ale over the side of the tankard in her hand. The splash landed on a logger's shoulder and he cursed at her, but she didn't seem to notice.

"James," she said, smiling but confused.

"I haven't got long, so can we.…"

"Yes, of course. Um, head on back to the office and I'll be there in a minute."

She noticed the angry logger and started apologizing, and James walked to the back office with Terry not far behind him. He could feel the eyes of curious patrons who'd overheard their conversation follow him across the room, and he saw Mary start to walk toward him, a wide grin on her face. He shook his head but waved, mouthing the word 'later.'

He was glad to shut himself in the cold office, away from everyone else. Terry stood guard outside after lighting a few candles around the room, and James half-sat on the edge of the desk, the way he'd seen Lily do so many times.

Lily entered not long after, and grinned at him when she shut the door behind her.

"You're back awfully soon, considering." She moved to lean against the desk next to James. "I'm surprised your father let you out of the castle."

"Well," James said with a rueful smile. "He did."

He wanted to reach out and hold her hand again, even though her right one was still damp with ale.

She noticed him looking and dried it off on her skirt.

"Perils of being a barmaid," she said apologetically. "How are you today?"

"We're leaving for Newcastle tomorrow," he said, wishing there were some more delicate way to put it but not knowing how else to deliver such awful news.

Her grin wilted.

"For the funeral," she said.

"Yes."

He tried to smile, to pretend like this wasn't as terrible an occasion as it really was.

She sat up straighter and gave him the same smile he'd tried to give her. "Well, we knew you would leave eventually."

"But I thought I'd have more time to get you lessons and, I dunno, figure out something long-distance for you. I still might come up with something, but…I've been sent to say goodbye."

"By Remus?"

"No, by my father."

"He knows I'm a witch?" she asked, her eyes going wide.

"No! No, he knows I've got a girl in town I fancy."

"Oh. Oh, G_od._"

James rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, well, he doesn't…it doesn't matter. He said I should say goodbye, so that was decent enough."

"So…this is goodbye."

He swallowed, and it sounded deafening in his head.

"Is it, though?" he said, keeping his voice quiet, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt, unable to voice the words he'd tossed about so many other times.

He couldn't watch her answer, instead pretending to pick something off his cloak.

"James," she said, softly, gently, and he resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, "no."

The question 'why not' sat heavy on his tongue, so he swallowed again, and then once more. What was one more twist of the knife? He was already miserable.

Except this had been the one good thing he'd been looking forward to, his one hope, dashed with a single word.

"That night in this office," he said, still carefully avoiding looking up, "when I apologized, you scolded me for not righting more wrongs. I'm giving you the chance to do that."

She let out a short breath. "This is the last time we'll see each other in ages. Can we focus on goodbye instead of you trying to guilt me into marrying you?"

He ducked his head. "I suppose."

"This isn't goodbye forever, you know." She tried to sound cheery, but he wasn't fooled. "This shouldn't be…it isn't so bad. You'll be back in Hogwarts next winter, I assume."

"It's very likely." His mouth came up with empty answers while he tried to keep his brain from full on panicking.

"You can visit me. We'll catch up, do more magic."

"I'll probably be married by then."

He heard her swallow. "I imagine so."

His hand reached up to run through his hair, but he wrenched it down to the desk, and clung to that instead. "It'll probably be to Valerie Turpin."

"Valerie," she said, falsely happy. "That's a nice name."

"She's got really nice shoulders."

She gave a half-hearted laugh. "I will miss you."

Miraculously that made him feel worse, that she was only declining with reluctance, because it was a no all the same.

"And not just because I taught you magic?" he said.

"No. Not just because of that." Her fingers clenched around a bit of skirt. "Will Valerie be a good queen?"

"If you're of the opinion that a queen's duty is to keep her husband and household happy, and look nice, and be appropriate, then yes."

"That is traditionally what a lot of queens have done," she offered.

"I think you know how I feel about tradition, though." He sighed. "Merlin, I'm going to have to be king. It's mad, isn't it. You're going to live in a country that I run by myself."

"I thought we agreed this wouldn't be a guilting session."

He slanted a glance at her. "It's only guilting if you think you should be doing something."

She didn't have a quick retort for that, and James felt like he should have celebrated, but he didn't have the heart.

"I'm sure you can persuade her to help out," she said, trying that stupid false happiness again. "And you'll have your advisers."

"Let's hope they know more than I do, eh?"

"You won't be nearly as terrible as you think. I'm sure of it."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, at least."

James heard Terry knock outside the office.

He looked at the door, and then at her. "That's my cue, then."

She gave him a weak smile. "Safe travels."

He couldn't believe that this was the end. One syllable and she was out of his life, probably all but permanently, because he'd never visit as king, not really, and she wouldn't want to visit him and his new wife.

They'd come so far and they'd still end up apart.

His muscles almost got up to go to Terry, but he made himself stay seated because he wouldn't have a better chance to say what he wanted to say. If he was going to go back to the castle and propose to Valerie, he needed to get it all out and hope that it didn't come back to the castle with him.

"Only if this is—I need to say this," he said, forcing himself to look at her eyes because who knew when he'd see them again, "and you don't need to say anything back because you've already said no, but I can't—I can't go without telling you. I probably should have said it before asking you to marry me, but…I think I'm in love with you. You really are the best person I've ever met and I think you're completely amazing. You—you saw me, all of me, and you still thought I was…decent. And if that's all you ever know that you've done for me, I hope that makes you happy. That you made me happier, if only for a little while. And I hope that, well, I made you at least a little happier than you were, and not just because I told you you're a witch. And now I've been talking too much like I always do and, yeah, you don't…don't have to say anything."

He broke eye contact, but he wasn't able to focus on anything in particular. His gaze jumped from her hands, tightly gripping her skirt, to her shoes, dirty and a little ragged, to his own hands, elegantly maintained and clinging to the edge of the desk.

Then she leaned over, before he quite knew what she was doing, slid her rough hands along both sides of his face and half into his hair, and kissed him soundly.

He kissed back, desperately, frantically, hands rising to cling to her shoulders, hoping he could convince her with this one last method if nothing else.

He could barely breathe for kissing her, but that didn't matter because finally, _finally_, he knew he wasn't the only one pining, the only one broken over how things had turned out, and if this was the one kiss he would ever get from her he was going to make it last, make it count.

But she pulled away as abruptly as she'd started the kiss, returning to her previous position half-sitting on the desk, and balled her hands into fists on her lap.

He felt hollow on the inside, his furious, tense heartbeat echoing in his chest.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

There seemed to be very little left to say. He'd offered her all he could and she'd still rejected him.

"Goodbye, then," James said.

"Goodbye."

She didn't look up from her lap.

"Until next winter," he said.

And he stood up, and he left, and he hated himself for it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Four moments defined James' life thereafter.

The first moment took a week to germinate, growing in the back of his mind while he went about his life.

He proposed to Valerie the evening after saying goodbye to Lily. It didn't take much effort to convince her, of course. He said something about it being a solid match and she agreed. Her parents and his father toasted to their long and prosperous marriage.

They announced their engagement in the morning. Everyone stopped to congratulate him as he sped around the castle packing up his personal belongings for the trip back to Newcastle, and it was somehow worse than receiving all the condolences the day before. Feigning excitement over tying himself to the woman he didn't love was much more taxing than agreeing that his mother would be sorely missed.

James and his father caught a Portkey back to Newcastle, and, after weeks in Hogwarts, returning to the energy of their usual homestead was jarring. With the sheer number of people wandering about the castle, James could barely find space to be alone. Unlike at Hogwarts, he couldn't retreat into a forest or the snowy streets of Hogsmeade. Instead of mountains and forests, the narrow windows of their home in Newcastle offered views of coal-dusted rooftops.

The funeral came and passed with a large amount of fanfare. The worst part was lying and telling the public they didn't know who'd killed her because George didn't want to publicly start a war with Slytherin just yet. James knew they would have to say something soon, though. Like most public figures, the country never liked Odette so much as when she was dead.

James had promised Lily he wouldn't abdicate right away and, with that option off the table, he pushed himself into practical matters. He responded when Valerie asked his opinion on wedding details, and shadowed his father in all meetings and hearings, and finally tried to learn all the names of the important staff members. He'd known most of them, but not all, and he'd always felt guilty about it.

James and his mates worked on the Search Charm with renewed enthusiasm. The spells started to come together, but they never seemed to quite work the way they were supposed to, and James struggled to discover why. Still, it gave him something to do while his father refused to take action.

All this effort did help some. He filled up his days with prince business and his evenings with his mates, who seemed to have taken on a rotation schedule that meant James was never allowed to be alone. This was fine with James, of course. He had very little time in which to notice his mother's absence. Except at meals, or when Algernon bounded into his room, or when he put on his hat.

At night, lying alone in his bed, he sometimes dreamed of Lily, of watching her cast her first spell, of the way her hair gleamed in candlelight. No one around him mentioned her, not even his mates. He supposed they were trying to help him move on. But she'd been his wand in the dark and he didn't like life without her. That was all she'd ever be, though, a bright flash in his life that had now finally burned out.

He had Remus send Lily more books and a spare wand because he owed her that much, at least. He wanted to include a letter, but the words never came out right, and the package finally left without one.

Everything kept moving along around him—the wedding, castle affairs, politics—like a river rushing downstream, and James let himself get carried with the current. For a brief period at Hogwarts he'd felt like he was keeping his head above water, but that buoyancy had faded, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could ride it out.

It wasn't until they brought his wedding attire that James decided he'd had enough.

He stood in the castle fitting room, mirrors on three sides of him, and inspected the garish outfit they intended to marry him off in. It was only the first of several fittings, but he already despised the fur trim and the feathered hat.

"I think it looks quite dashing," Valerie said, one hand poised along her chin. She smiled at him a little, enough that he knew she wasn't serious.

"I'm not sold," James told her. "I think it looks a little common, honestly. I mean, only _one _feather?"

"Well…it could be worse."

"Valerie, there is literally a feather in my cap."

She laughed. "At least it's a sight better than your grey knit cap. Did your cat get at that one or something?"

James' heart clenched. "My mother knit it," he said tersely.

"Oh, Merlin, James," she said, her arm dropping to her side. "I had no idea. I do apologize."

"You didn't know," he said. "But I do think I look bloody awful in this."

"I'm assured this is a style fit for kings."

"Can't I wear my normal clothing? That's also fit for kings. They tailored it for me, after all."

"You should see the hideous beast they've created for me. If I'm wearing that monstrosity, you're certainly wearing the feather."

James looked into the mirror again, and hated the feather just as much as he had on the first viewing. His hair stuck out at odd angles under the hat, and somehow that detail struck him more than anything else in that moment.

"You might consider trimming your hair before the ceremony," she said. "The hat makes it look dreadful."

But James barely heard her, transfixed as he was on his reflection.

This was it, then. He was going to marry Valerie in this absurd outfit with his hair looking ridiculous, and he'd become king someday and try the best he could at everything.

And he could live that way. His father had, and presumably all his ancestors before him. It wouldn't be the worst possible life. James would have children to dote on, and that would be all right. His mother would have wanted that life for him.

But James didn't want it.

Not without Lily.

And if Lily wouldn't become queen….

He'd thought he'd offered her everything, but he hadn't, not really. He had offered her responsibility, and power, and magic.

He hadn't offered himself.

He couldn't fault Lily for rejecting the burden of being queen when James would gladly give up his own duties.

He could be happy with Lily. And if she found working in a pub highly satisfying, he was sure he could, too. It would be fun to pay himself to drink and talk to people all day. He'd already done plenty of that as a patron.

He'd waited long enough. He knew this wasn't a decision born out of grief.

That was the first moment.

* * *

Of course, if James was leaving, he had to offer an out to Sirius, too. That night, while they lay on their stomachs on the floor of their shared bedroom, both poring over spellbooks, he asked Sirius a question he'd long wondered about.

"Why don't you just run away and go do what you want?" James asked. "You don't seem to like hanging around the castle all that much."

Algernon had curled up on the rug next to him, his eyes half closed and his tail gently swishing back and forth.

"It would be boring if I ran away." Sirius frowned at the faded text in front of him. "Who would go with me?"

"I might have, if you'd ever asked."

"I know you would have," Sirius said, jotting down a note in the margins. "Which is why I could never ask."

James blinked and looked to Algernon, who rolled over onto his back, inviting James to rub his belly. James rolled his eyes at his cat. "Fine," he muttered. He sat up properly and reached out to start scratching.

"I would love nothing more," Sirius said, pushing himself up into a sitting position, "than to actually open up a brickmaking and construction joint venture with you, or whatever other mad idea we come up with."

"But."

"But we can't let Peter become king, of course."

"Why not?" James demanded.

"It's Peter. He's not…kingly." Sirius gave him a pointed look. "You're not abdicating."

"Maybe I am, though. I mean, why shouldn't I? I can if I want, and I don't want to be king."

"James." Sirius clamped his mouth shut and ducked his head, then said, "You are going to be a remarkable king."

"You have to say that. You're my best mate."

"That may be true, but I don't think I've ever met anyone in my whole life who would be a better king than you would."

This conversation had not gone the direction James had expected, or wanted.

"Oh, fuck off," James said without rancor. "Did you see my brilliant idea for wooing Lily? Marching into a pub, honestly."

"That was Peter's idea, you said."

"Well, yes," James said. "It was."

"And you want to let _him_ become king."

James considered this. "It wasn't his best moment."

"Even in your worst moments, James," Sirius said, "you are three times the king Peter could ever be."

He spoke with conviction, enough that James stopped petting Algernon.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" James said. "Peter is our friend, I shouldn't have to remind you."

"It doesn't matter if he's our friend. I'm not talking out of friendship or kindness here. I'm speaking purely as a resident of Gryffindor."

James couldn't stand to look at Sirius, so he went back to focusing on scratching Algernon's stomach.

"I know you think I'm infuriating sometimes," Sirius said, "but you can be just as pig-headed as me. I know you don't see it. But if you don't trust me, whose opinion do you trust?"

A name sprang immediately to mind, but James said nothing.

Sirius let out a hollow laugh. "After all our years of friendship, you would pick her word over mine?"

"I do trust you." James looked back at Sirius. "You know that. Only…I trust her to be more objective."

"And what does she have to say on the matter?"

"She thinks I could do it," James said, allowing his skepticism to show. "But I don't want to. Not if I can't have her for a partner."

"So you're quitting," Sirius said, his voice flat.

"This shouldn't come as a terrible surprise."

"It doesn't, but I hoped…I hoped you wouldn't."

"Well, I'm going to. Lily made me promise not to make a hasty decision about it, so I'll give myself another week or so to think it over. Let me know if you want to come with me. Either way," James said, "I'm going."

* * *

The second moment snuck up on him, a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye.

In the morning James began his preparations. He wandered through the library and found the proper terminology for his abdication letter, and penned out a draft in his best handwriting.

He started tucking away clothing and subtly saying his farewells to the people he cared for. He developed a will of sorts for the belongings he'd leave behind, and wrote two more notes, one for his father and one for Valerie, explaining his decision.

Knowing that in a week's time he would be common made James feel freer than he had in years. He spoke up in meetings and talked to envoys and listened to advisers with ease; it wasn't difficult, not with an end in sight.

His father had called an engagement ball for the following week, and James saw no better time to leave than to sneak out with the crowd. He hadn't quite pieced together his plan, since he would be quite recognizable, but then George unwittingly handed him a solution one afternoon.

"I've kept this from you because I didn't think you were ready," George said, reaching into a drawer in his desk, "but I believe it's time."

James had barely been listening until his father stood up holding a strange, silvery material in his hand. James sat up straighter in his seat, eyes fixed on the fabric, and George moved around the desk to stand next to him.

"This has been in our family line for centuries," George said. "I should like you to have it, and to use it should our defenses fall."

George grasped the material in both hands and let it unfold in front of him. It tumbled down like a sheet of water, dropping into shape, in what appeared to be—

"The Invisibility Cloak," James said, eyes going wide. He'd known they were descended from the Peverells, but his father had always insisted the Hallows were a myth.

"We never share the Cloak with anyone except our heirs. Not even your mother knew of its existence."

George held it out toward James, who stumbled to his feet and reached out to touch it. James sent a questioning look at his father, who nodded, and James closed his hand around it.

It was cool, like silk.

James wrapped it around his shoulders and looked down. He was perfectly invisible, as the legend promised. He let out a low whistle.

"Thank you," James said, and his awe gave way to joy.

He knew how he could leave the castle undetected now, and he began estimating how many people could fit under the cloak. It would be tight with him and Sirius, but they could probably manage.

"I know you've been—distraught—since we came back to Newcastle," George said, "but I know you will come to care for Valerie."

His father's condescension made a dent in James' good mood, and then George thoroughly spoiled it.

"Perhaps you will even come to see Hogwarts as I did, as a fond place where you first met your wife." George's eyes softened, as they had been doing more and more frequently. "I wish we could have buried Odette at Hogwarts. She loved the castle more than I ever did, especially in the winter."

James' hands clenched around the Cloak, and he told himself he wasn't going to cry again.

He rode through the sudden wave of grief, and spoke the question that he'd come to ask. "What are we going to do? About Slytherin—well."

George walked back around his desk, and James couldn't see his expression.

"I know you disagree," George said, and James resisted the impulse to reach for his wand, "but it is not yet the time to act."

James focused on removing the cloak and folding it up while his father continued.

"We will act. Soon. But not until I have thoroughly debated our approach."

"I think we're rather past diplomacy with them at this point," James said tightly.

"Trust me on this, James. You're young and impulsive, but I believe this is the best course of action."

James bit his tongue to keep from arguing because it didn't matter what his father did. James wouldn't have to personally deal with the consequences, and his opinion wouldn't change anything.

Not with his father, anyway.

James reserved his comments for the one person who might listen, the one person who might take James' thoughts into account after his abdication. This was the one matter James cared about, the one he'd wonder about after he left, and he had to have his say.

After dropping off the Cloak in his room, he marched down to Dumbledore's study on the third floor.

"I can't believe he won't do anything in retaliation," James said, stalking around Dumbledore's crowded room. As the top adviser, Dumbledore had a sunny study overlooking the city, but he'd filled every available surface with peculiar gadgets whose purpose James couldn't begin to guess at. "Won't Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff side with us now? Slytherin killed the queen, for Merlin's sake, and nearly killed the king."

"Your father has always been close to his Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff ambassadors," Dumbledore said, "close enough not to see how frightened they are of King Voldemort. Should we begin a war, Hufflepuff would stand with us, but Ravenclaw might not."

James stopped his pacing by the window, and turned back to face Dumbledore at his desk. "Cowards."

"They are merely acting in their own self-interest. Their short-term self-interest, I might add. They do not believe as I do that Voldemort will content himself with the annexation of Gryffindor. I believe he desires to move past our borders and into theirs, as well."

"Is that what he wants, then? Annexation?"

"Given their attempt to destabilize our government, yes, I believe so."

"Voldemort certainly has a pair on him, doesn't he," James said to himself, and blood rushed to his face when he remembered Dumbledore could hear him. "Sorry."

Dumbledore smiled. "It's far from the worst terminology I've heard in my lifetime, although I am curious to hear your explanation."

"I mean, he knows we know he did it," James said, running a hand through his hair. "There's no way he thinks he's actually fooled us into thinking this is anyone else's work, but he knows we can't do anything about it."

"An accurate assessment. I agree that he intended we should know the identity of the true culprit."

"But why?"

Dumbledore rose and joined James at the window. "A remarkably simple and apt question. One I wish I had the answer to myself."

"You must have some inkling," James said, desperately needing this to be the case. If Dumbledore didn't know, they were lost.

"I confess, an old man finds himself suspicious of many things."

"Tell me," James demanded. "My father might not care to hear, but I do."

Dumbledore gazed out over Newcastle. "Voldemort appears to be quite keen that we should focus our attentions on the border, and on finding the spies he has cast very deliberately into our net."

James nodded for him to continue.

"As for myself, when an opponent wishes me to look one direction, I find myself inclined to look another."

Dread surged through James. "Where?" he asked.

Dumbledore turned to James, looking terribly grave. "Very few individuals knew of those tunnels, James, assuming the killer did enter through them. Unlike your father, I find it highly improbable that they discovered them of their own accord."

"But who would have told them?"

Dumbledore smiled without humor. "Who indeed."

For the first time James found himself doubting his abdication plan. If his father refused to entertain notions of a spy within their own staff, and if James left, Dumbledore would have no one else to petition George to actually do something.

And what if the spy struck again, and James lost his father, too?

James knew he would lose most emotional ties with George when he left—something he now found himself reluctant to do, which he wouldn't have expected prior to his mother's death—but James couldn't bear to see his father killed by his own stubbornness, especially not on top of his mother's recent demise.

That was the second moment.

"Are your staff still working on those listening spells cast on animals?" James said.

"Not at this precise moment, but the results have been well documented. Have you some other purpose in mind?"

James shook his head. "No other purpose, just this one. If my father won't do anything, we might have to."

He spoke in the plural, as though he would be there to help, but obviously he wouldn't be. He was leaving. He'd decided.

If his father refused to listen to his own advisers, that was his choice. James had registered his opinion, and he wasn't entitled to anything more than that.

* * *

The third moment struck James like a blow to the chest, a stealthy assailant finally making his move.

The doubt that had surfaced in Dumbledore's study clung to him for several more days. James wanted nothing more than to rid himself of it, and he knew of no better way than by moving further toward abdication.

The one person who really needed to be aware of his intentions was Peter. As neither Peter nor Remus had mentioned James' abdication plans, James assumed Sirius had kept his confidences.

Of course, James couldn't come out and confess his true plans because he was a bit of a coward, as it turned out. He didn't know how Peter would take it. Would Peter be grateful for the honor? Terrified that he'd have to step up? If James told Peter he was leaving, Peter might beg and plead for James to stay, and James might listen.

There had to be a way to warn Peter without outright telling him he'd be needed.

The next time Peter had been assigned Keep James Company duty, James tried to bring it up casually while they played Exploding Snap on the floor of Peter's bedroom.

"Peter," James said, eyes fixed on his hand, "do you feel adequately prepared to become king should the need arise?"

This had sounded much less direct in James' head.

"Er," said Peter.

James set his cards on the ground and loosely wrapped his arms around his knees. "I can't—I won't say more, but just…be ready in case something happens, yeah?"

"The security is much better here than in Hogsmeade," Peter said, eyebrows drawing together. "I don't think you're going to die anytime soon."

"I'm not _expecting_ anything to happen _to _me, but, well, life happens, you know?"

"James, what are you talking about?"

"Look, I just need you to be ready because maybe I will die," James said. "And if I do, and my father doesn't, you need to work with Dumbledore. He's got a plan for how we can start fighting back against Slytherin."

Peter put down his cards and looked at James warily. "What sort of plan?"

"I don't want to say too much because I'm not sure we're—he's—going to do it, but I need someone else, someone who might be next in line, to know and support Dumbledore in front of my father. Oh, and tell Dumbledore about the Search Charm, in case he knows what to do with it."

"Er. All right?"

"Oh!" James dropped his arms to the side, and shifted around to sit cross-legged and lean forward. "And start a magic school for people like Lily, yeah? You'll have to find them first but talk to Dumbledore about it, he should have some ideas. And fire Trewlaney, she's a hack, and downsize the number of castles we have, it's such a waste, and—"

And then James understood why he couldn't abdicate.

Who would do all the things that needed to be done?

Peter wouldn't.

Peter didn't take charge, he didn't have plans, and he didn't…he wasn't a leader.

James was a leader, even when he was depressed. He always had been, much as he'd been loath to admit it. He'd even felt marginally capable at it before his mother had died. He knew what a good leader looked like, although he hadn't really figured out how to embody all those traits at once yet, but Peter….

James had felt like an awful friend the night he'd told Lily he knew what she meant about Peter. He hadn't put it into words, hadn't known which terms to use, but now he did.

Peter was a follower.

When James left, Peter would follow…. Not Remus, who didn't let himself lead. And not Sirius, who would probably join James in Hogsmeade. Which left…

Helena. She was a take-charge sort of person, and Peter worshipped her.

And dear Merlin, James Potter was not leaving his country to the mercies of Helena bloody Hodge.

That was the third moment.

The thought of abdication, of a life running the pub with Lily, had got James through the past few days, a dream he would finally achieve.

But it wasn't going to become a reality. Not ever. Because it didn't matter that James was not the best choice for king. He only had to be better than the next person in line, and he was.

Half of him, the part that felt like his heart had been ripped in two, wanted James to shout himself hoarse about how unfair it all was, to smash every piece of furniture in sight.

But the other half of him had gone eerily calm. It ached, yes, and it desperately wished things were different, but they weren't different, and James had never really had a choice. Not really.

The two sides warred for a moment, between destruction and acceptance, and all the while his heart beat steadily, if a bit rapidly.

The latter side won out.

James allowed the side of destruction one last moment of brutal agony, and then he turned away from it.

Because at least his decision was made, and he felt to his core that it was the right one, and he didn't have to worry about it ever again.

* * *

"Abdication plans are aborted," James said as he wandered into his bedroom, still feeling a bit distanced from the world. He stopped just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do with himself.

James had been speaking to Sirius, but then he noticed Remus occupied another armchair, leaning over to write on the table in front of him.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Remus said, setting his quill into an inkpot.

James turned to Sirius. "You told him?"

He should have felt annoyed, and betrayed, but what did it matter that Remus knew? It wasn't happening.

"You knew I would," Sirius said, daring James to disagree.

And he was right. James had known.

"It doesn't matter," James told him. "I'm not abdicating so you can stop whatever plans you had in motion."

They didn't lie and say they didn't have plans. In truth, James would have been disappointed if they hadn't been scheming.

He looked around the room, feeling like he was forgetting something.

Of course. His escape route.

If this was really and truly his final decision, he couldn't have the Cloak. It would always tempt him with the promise of freedom.

Dumbledore could use it, though.

James would give it to him to use against Slytherin. It would break tradition, but tradition mattered little when the very foundation of the tradition was at stake.

He would go to Dumbledore and explain its powers, but later.

First he had a letter that he was finally ready to write.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_I started writing a letter to you the other day explaining that I was going to abdicate and come live with you and help run the pub and all that._

_Don't panic, though! You shouldn't expect me at your door anytime soon._

_I'd made up my mind to leave the throne to Peter and go do all those things, but then I realized I couldn't._

_I can't abdicate, Lily. I don't think you were waiting for the day I'd burst into your pub again, proclaiming my undying love and shouting that I would give up everything for you, but just in case you thought that was a possibility, put it to rest. It won't happen. I give you permission to marry your true love Evan McNamee. _

_I suspect you know why this is. You've always seen things more clearly than I have. As the prince I do have to sacrifice what I want because if I don't, everything might go to shit in Gryffindor._

_And yes, that is hyperbole, I'm perfectly aware. _

_But maybe not entirely. Not if Slytherin accomplishes what they want. I can't say more but I'm working on it, all right? Because my father won't and Peter won't and that leaves me._

_I'm going to build that school for you, by the way. I'm going to give up Hogwarts when I'm king and turn it into a magic school where everyone can learn, noble or not. I still haven't figured out how to find people like you but I'm sure I'll think of something. By which I mean have someone else think of something._

_Look at me, delegating!_

_That was a joke, but in all seriousness, I am trying. I wouldn't be, though, if it weren't for you, and so I needed to write this letter to say thank you, and that I hope you find happiness and meaning without me._

_I'll think of you when I'm unhappy. I hope that doesn't sound too strange. I'll think of you and know that I made the right decision even though I miss you because my country needs a halfway decent leader right now, and you taught me I can aspire to be that halfway decent leader. It's a lofty goal, I know, but there are so many things I want to change about this country. I have to try to do something about them._

_So thanks. I love you. I wish I could kick down your pub door like I always wanted to and hope that my second declaration of love in a doorway went better than the first, but I don't think your windows could take another beating._

_I wish you all the best in life._

_Yours,_

_James_


	13. Chapter 13

IT'S TUESDAY IN SOME PARTS OF THE WORLD OKAY stay tuned for the epilogue

**Chapter Thirteen**

James knocked on Dumbledore's office twice in rapid succession, and Dumbledore opened the door at once.

"Excellent." Dumbledore smiled in his mild way. "You're just in time."

"Terry said it was urgent," James said uncertainly, stepping through the door.

Dumbledore said something else, but James was distracted by the handful of people that were already standing in the room. He recognized some of them, which inexplicably included Valerie's lady's maid McKinnon, but he couldn't imagine why they were all in Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore walked past James, who stood awkwardly just inside the door, and stopped within arm's length of a cantankerous looking man with a wooden leg. "I'd like for you to meet some of my acquaintances."

"Of course," James said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt.

Dumbledore gestured at the man standing furthest for him. "This is Sir Kingsley Shacklebolt of Lancashire."

A tall, bald man with military posture gave James a small bow. "An honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness."

James strode over and offered his hand, and Kingsley shook it. "James, please."

"And I believe you're familiar with Marlene McKinnon," Dumbledore said.

She pushed her shoulders back and gave James a winning smile. "Sir."

"We're all equals here, all right?" James smiled back at her and shook her hand. "Except Dumbledore. He can be in charge as far as I'm concerned."

Dumbledore introduced James to everyone—Arthur Weasely, Frank and Alice Longbottom, Emmeline Vance, and Alastor Moody all greeted James with great enthusiasm—and Conjured several more chairs for his study. With a flick of his wand they all lifted up in the air, shifted, and settled back down in a perfect circle.

"Please, sit," Dumbledore said, taking a seat in a cushy purple armchair.

James lowered himself into the green wingback nearest him. "Dumbledore, Terry didn't mention—what are we meeting about, exactly?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I've recently become aware of your attempts to devise a spell to discover individuals wearing the Slytherin inking."

"Er."

"None of your friends have betrayed your confidences, I assure you, but the matter has come to my attention regardless."

James resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. "I mean, it doesn't work yet, or anything."

"But it's a valiant effort, one I commend."

"Thanks?"

Dumbledore smiled. "We've convened today to continue a—an effort, of sorts, to preemptively develop strategies, should your father request action against Slytherin."

"Ah," said James. He wanted to jump up and shout, _fucking finally_, but instead he said, "I'm very glad to hear that."

"I thought you might be. My acquaintances have several ideas I believe are worth pursuing. Of course," Dumbledore added, "these are all highly theoretical exercises and are certainly not being implemented without the consent of your father."

"No," James said, fighting back a grin, "of course not."

"Would you care to begin our meeting today by explaining your current efforts?"

"I can try, yeah. I mean, Remus is the one who understands it best, and I can bring him next time—I mean, can I bring him?"

Dumbledore nodded serenely.

"But we wanted to find out where the spies were so we could follow them," James explained. "We started with the Wollstonecraft adjustment…."

* * *

The fourth moment burst into existence, a spark between flint and steel.

Valerie proved to be a talented dancer, as talented as she was at most things, but she was not the best James had ever seen. He felt awful for doing it, but he spent their first dance at the engagement ball imagining that Lily, light-footed as she was, must be an incredible dancer. He pictured her gliding across the ballroom floor with him, the light from the chandeliers catching on her hair and eyes.

It stung, to think of what he would never have, but it was not a world-ending thought. His decision had been made, and Lily be happy and find meaning without him.

In the days since he had given Dumbledore the Cloak, he had been learning to accept the fact that he'd never be as happy as he had been in her pub. That they were apart did not mean his life wasn't worth living, although sometimes late at night it felt that way.

But he'd endured, and spent the intervening days doing all the things he thought he should as best he could, and he tried to content himself with that.

Valerie mistook his wistful look as one meant for her, and she whispered in his ear, "We can dance whenever you like, if it makes you this happy."

He offered her a smile in response, and escorted her to the side of the dance floor while the other couples streamed on in their stead.

He spotted his father from across the room, near the podium housing the thrones, watching them and smiling. James immediately thought of his mother. She'd always been a fantastic dancer, and she should have been there, dancing with his father.

James reluctantly set aside thoughts of his mother and focused on Remus, who was approaching them and looking much too at ease in a shirt with such puffy sleeves.

"I hate to intrude," Remus said, "but I was so thoroughly impressed by your performance on the floor." He bowed to Valerie. "May I have this dance?"

"So long as my fiancé doesn't object," she said, smiling.

"Oh, go right ahead," James said. "Remus taught me everything I know."

James knew that glint in Remus' eye. Remus was plotting something, but James trusted him enough to know Valerie wouldn't be hurt in the process.

Remus escorted her into the crowd of couples, and Sirius snuck up to James soon after.

"Come on, then," Sirius said, tugging at James' arm.

James let himself get pulled around the dance floor, brushing off people who tried to grab his attention with half-hearted apologies and half-finished sentences about needing to meet someone.

"What's so urgent that you have to steal away my fiancée?" James said.

"We had to steal her so we could steal you," Sirius explained. "It's right—" He strained his neck to see over a man's shoulder and then grinned. "There."

James rolled his eyes, expecting some inappropriate prank to send off his bachelorhood, but then his lungs promptly forgot how to work for a moment.

"Lily," he breathed when he remembered how.

She looked marvelous, in a flowing golden gown with her hair pinned up, a few stray trails dangling elegantly off the sides.

She didn't see him right away either, and he soaked in the image of her looking perfectly in place among the most important people in the country.

He assumed Remus had provided the dress—Remus had always had good sartorial advice—but the defiant lift of the chin that she wore was all her own. She was waiting for someone to ask why she was there, and she had some smart remark cocked and ready to go.

She turned away from the dancers to scan the crowd, and her eyes found his.

He wandered toward her in a daze, cheeks heating with the memory of how she'd sent him off from Hogsmeade.

He stopped an arm's length from her. He could reach out and touch her, if he wanted. And he did want, if only to prove she wasn't a figment of his imagination.

"Are you just going to stand there gaping at me like a monkey?" she asked, her hand propping on her hip.

He gave an obvious show of looking her up and down, holding a hand to his chin. "Well, you look absolutely terrible."

Her mouth curved into an enormous grin. "Liar," she said, savoring the word.

He caught her infectious smile, still stunned she was there at all. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't hope to dare—he knew why he wanted her to be there—but surely she couldn't, not after she'd so thoroughly—

"I was going to come kick down your door," she said, "but I realized that might get me thrown in jail."

The idea that she'd come back for him, that she'd read his letter and wasn't content to live without him, slipped into James' head and wouldn't settle down, bouncing around until the thought consumed him.

That was the fourth moment.

"Yes, the guards might do that," James said, mouth tripping over his tongue. "They definitely would do that."

"I might not be able to kick down the door, and I'll try not to break the windows—"

James could see where she was going, but she couldn't possibly—

"—but, James George Potter, will you marry me?"

His mind was lost, tumbling around in a joyful chaotic storm.

"I was going to—" She paused, and glanced at the ground. "I was going to do a large announcement to the group, but that seemed cruel to your fiancée."

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn't comprehend this moment, but he wanted to savor it, to remember it so he could examine it from all sides later.

And while his brain tried to encapsulate every detail, his mouth went off of its own accord. "And you don't mind having to learn all the social niceties and being in charge with me and, well, all that queen stuff?"

"I was—afraid," she said. "You realize you came into my life out of nowhere and offered me something common girls dream about? Only I never did, James, and seeing you so miserable in your position, and with Slytherin…you can see why it didn't appeal. But now I've thought about it, quite a lot, and I think…I think I can do all that."

She caught a finger in her other hand and wrung it. "I found my meaning in the pub, but there's no reason I couldn't find it with you and, well, the country, except that I was afraid, but…I'm not, anymore. That is, I am terrified, exceptionally so, but I think we can manage. Together. I think we'll be unhappy at least some of the time, but a life full of meaning will get us through many more years than happiness will."

He felt the truth in her statement, a content weight in his chest, a puzzle piece locking into place. But he also noticed, and felt terribly selfish for noticing, that she spoke of service to her country, and not of him.

He needed to hear it, though, and his mouth ran off on its own again. "Don't forget that being queen involves putting up with me."

"I…care for you," she said, dropping her gaze but not her chin. "A surprising amount, considering we've known each other for such a short amount of time. You're smart and interesting and you make me laugh, and you're so…yourself, if that makes any sense at all. And you do make me happy, don't ever think you don't. I wouldn't say I'm in love with you yet—it's close but I don't want to be a liar, not on this—but I know I'll get there because I'm halfway there already. Maybe even three quarters. And I knew if I didn't say anything we'd never even get a chance, so…here I am. If you'll still have me."

She didn't love him.

But it was close! And that was enough for James. She might not think she loved him, but she'd read his letter and she'd come here, for him, hadn't been able to let him follow through and marry someone else.

He'd been prepared to live without her, although he hadn't wanted to, and now he wouldn't have to. He'd face his responsibilities, and she would help, and they would have children and figure out what Slytherin wanted and start a magic school and—

And finally, finally, his heart, and his head, and his mouth all synced up.

"Of course I'll marry you!" he said, feeling suddenly, amazingly complete and whole. "Of course, in a heartbeat—yes, if I haven't already said it, _yes_, I will marry you right now if you want—I just—" James nodded his head toward the dance floor.

"Good. That's—good." She laughed through a smile, and seemed to glow with a renewed sense of energy. "Now go break it off with Valerie before I change my mind."

"Liar," he said through a ridiculous grin. "You won't change your mind, not now."

She raised an elegant eyebrow. "And?"

"I'm going, I'm going. I'd kiss you right now were I not engaged to a woman out there."

"I believe I would be the one to kiss you. Did I not already establish that I'm the leader in this relationship?"

"Which is completely fine by me, my love, my dear liar, my prince charming—you should really stop me or I'll keep going—but all right. Good. Give me a moment. I need to—" James couldn't finish his sentence out of sheer giddiness.

She shoved him playfully, and he reveled in the contact, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and kiss her. But he wasn't a cad. He had sterling character that demanded he end it with Valerie, now, immediately, before he realized how awful it was going to be to do so.

"Go on, then," Lily said.

"You forgot handsome, by the way," he said, talking a step backwards away from her.

"What?"

"You listed off all my good traits and didn't even mention my hair? It's a travesty."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you're a veritable stallion. Now go!"

James stumbled over to where Remus and Valerie were standing, running into several people in his haste. Valerie still had her arm linked with Remus', a bit flushed but smiling contentedly.

"You should have Remus tutor you some more in dancing," she said. "He puts you to shame, I'm sorry to admit."

"You're quite talented yourself," Remus said, nimbly pulling his arm free to take a small bow.

"Valerie, I need to speak to you in private for a moment," James said. He knew he should look grave and apologetic, but he couldn't seem to suppress his grin.

Remus shot him a subtly disappointed look, though, and that made James feel properly ashamed, and he dropped his smile.

James felt even worse when he saw what his expression did to Valerie.

Remus quietly stepped back, and James drew Valerie over to one of the alcoves.

He didn't know how to lead into it, so he just went for it.

"I can't marry you," he said, keeping his voice low and somber.

Her delicate features remained perfectly neutral, and she shifted her gaze from his eyes to just over his shoulder. "Is that the girl?" she asked mildly. "The common one you kept seeing at Hogwarts."

James blinked. "You knew?"

"James," she said gently, "everyone knew."

He'd been ready to feel like a proper berk after breaking it off with Valerie, but this was worse than he'd imagined. Valerie had waited for him, despite knowing he had someone else in mind. She'd persisted and been patient and she must have thought it was all well and settled.

James had made the same mistake, though.

"Aha. Well. Yes," James said, rubbing the back of his neck, "the thing is, I'm rather in love with her."

"Yes," Valerie said, looking at James again. "I can see that."

She didn't sound hurt, or angry, or anything, really. He couldn't imagine marrying her now, spending his life with someone who was so skilled at showing only what she wanted.

"Right," he said. "I should explain that she's magic, actually, so I can marry her, legally. And I'm sorry—I planned to marry you, truly, but she came here tonight after—I didn't know she'd come, she'd rejected me, and I thought we were done and I was ready to marry you, but now she's here, so…I'm sorry. I can't marry you."

"I could hold you to our contract," she said placidly.

James could have kicked himself for forgetting as much. Of course he couldn't do this, not without Valerie's mutual agreement to end it.

"Yes, you could," he said, his heart pounding. "But I'm asking you not to."

She tilted her head and considered him for a moment. "Would it matter if I fancied you?"

He thought about lying, but she wasn't an idiot. She knew how he felt.

"No," he said. "But you don't fancy me."

"No," she said. "I don't."

"Well, I suppose it's mutual then. I mean, I like you well enough."

"And I like you." She graced him with a small smile. "And I suppose if I insist, you'll never forgive me."

"No. I wouldn't."

She reached out and lightly squeezed his hand. "Then I suppose I have no choice."

"You do, but obviously I prefer one outcome over the other." His heart thudded in his chest – he thought he knew what she was saying, and if he was right...

Her lips pressed together in a thin line. "I can see there's no changing your mind."

"None at all," he assured her.

"Very well." She gave a short nod to herself. "In that case I should take my leave. If you're to make an announcement tonight, that is."

"Oh. Right." He hadn't thought through his next steps besides telling Valerie, and then he supposed his father. But telling the crowd would make sense. "Of course. If you like. I won't make you—suffer through this any longer."

She smiled, a little sadly, and quickly pecked him on the cheek, her hand brushing against his chest.

His objective accomplished, he breathed easier, and had to restrain himself from beaming like an idiot. For now he could offer Valerie one last kindness, in return for hers.

"For the record," he said, "I think we could've made it work. If we had needed to."

"Yes. I think we could have."

"But I need—I love her."

"I understand," she said softly. "I wish you the best of luck, James."

"You, too," he said, and he meant it.

She wound through the crowd, presumably in search of her parents, and James went to find his own father, his brain still stuck on the thought that _Lily had come for him_. It wound around in his brain, unable to settle down until James found his father speaking to a Ravenclaw noble in a far corner of the room. James deftly intruded and pulled his father away.

"I'm not marrying Valerie," James said.

"James, I understand you're nervous, but trust me, you'll—"

"No, I mean, I've already got her to agree to dissolve the marriage contract. I'm marrying Lily Evans."

George gave a resigned sigh. "This is not an appropriate time for jokes."

"It's not a joke. I'm marrying the girl from Hogsmeade, all right? She's over there—" James pointed to where Lily stood near the dance floor, talking animatedly to Remus and Sirius, "—and she's magic and I love her and I'm marrying her, not Valerie."

For the first time James had ever seen, his father looked flummoxed.

"She's a witch?" George said blankly.

"Yes, and I'm not sure how that is, but McGonagall's been teaching her magic."

Comprehension dawned on George's face. "Is that what you were sneaking her in for."

"Yes," James said defensively. "You and Sirius both, you're so—the point is, she's a damn good witch, and also, I love her."

George didn't answer immediately. He watched Lily, his jaw tight, and James waited, curbing the urge to interrupt by counting heartbeats and reminding himself that no matter what George said, _Lily had come for him._

"If she's a witch," George finally said, "she probably has noble blood somewhere in her."

"I don't care about that. If I can't marry her while I'm the prince, I'm letting Peter have the throne."

"You feel this deeply about her?"

"I do," James said fervently. "I have a letter of abdication ready to hand in should you forbid me from marrying her, or trick me into marrying Valerie, or any other nonsense schemes you might have."

His father stared at Lily again, and James hoped he saw what James saw: her beauty, her charm, her power. How the people around her turned to her, just a little, like flowers to the sun.

Technically James didn't need his father's permission, but James couldn't imagine going through with this without persuading George first, and George needed to support him because _Lily had come for him_.

He wished his mother could have met her. She and Lily would have got along marvelously, he was sure of it, and maybe she would have convinced George to accept Lily. James would never know now.

George sighed and turned back to James. "I can't imagine this will help our relations with Ravenclaw, but very well. We're at an engagement ball, after all. I suppose it won't be too much trouble to exchange fiancées."

"Really, though," James heard himself say.

"Yes, although I'm not best pleased about the way in which you've handled this. You do realize this decision will negatively affect Valerie's future prospects, to be discarded so suddenly and publicly."

"I know, I know," James said, even though he hadn't thought about it at all. "I'll try to do something for her, but right now I need to go talk to my new fiancée and tell her that it's all settled and also that I love her."

George gave James a disbelieving look, but didn't press on the matter. "You should announce the change," he said. "If we're to make it official."

"I'm on it," James said, and he raced across the floor to Lily, the world shut out from his senses besides the sight of her standing there, waiting for him, because _she'd come for him_.

She turned to him as he approached, beaming, her cheeks a little rosier than when he'd last seen her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, and he answered by grabbing her hand and grinning.

"I am now legally capable of answering that yes, I will marry you, Lily Evans."

She started to step toward him, but caught herself. "I probably shouldn't kiss you yet, though, should I."

"It pains me to say this, but no, we really shouldn't kiss quite yet. But come on, we're going to go change that."

He pulled her across the room to the podium flanking one edge of the dance floor and left her at the side, smiling as he let go of her hand.

He stood in front of his father's throne, his shoulders back and his head raised high, and cleared his throat.

In a chorus of discordant notes, the musicians stopped playing, and the dancers stopped twirling, and all eyes moved to James.

His heart raced, and he started speaking before he could dread it. He allowed himself one last look at Lily, and seeing her trying to fight off a grin emboldened him.

"Thank you all so very much for coming tonight," he said, projecting his voice across the crowd. "I appreciate your presence, now more than ever. A country needs strong leaders, but also strong citizens, and together we'll make our country even better."

A few people began to clap, but James pressed on. "I know you were all invited here to celebrate my engagement, but there's been a slight change of plans. I regret to inform you that by mutual agreement I am no longer engaged to Lady Valerie Turpin. Instead I will be marrying Lily Evans."

The crowds would buzz over her lack of title, but James didn't care.

"I realize this is unorthodox, changing fiancées in the middle of an engagement ball, but this is the best outcome for everyone involved. I look forward to introducing you at length to Lily, but for now I need to ask her something more pressing."

He hopped off the podium, decorum be damned, and strode over to Lily, his hand outstretched.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, feeling like he could withstand even the Killing Curse at that moment.

Her smile grew tight, but he had wanted to do this all night, and probably even since he'd first seen her in the pub.

"I don't know how, you lunatic," she whispered to him, a smile fixed on her face.

Still, she took his hand and allowed him to walk her onto the emptying dance floor.

"It's all right," he said. "You'll be wonderful. Don't you trust me?"

"You thought people could judge juggling skills on sight. Forgive me for not trusting your judgment of people's physical abilities."

He stopped in the middle of the floor, laughing, and waited for the musicians to strike up again.

They began a slow, pleasing number that James knew well, one that had always made him feel like he was standing in front of a fire on a cold day.

"Lily Evans," he murmured, "my prince charming, I may not have an abundance of self-confidence in my juggling skills, but on this matter I am certain that you and I are well-matched."

He gently moved her hands into the correct position for the song, glad the musicians had chosen this number – he was pressed close against her, the bottom of his cheek brushing against the top of hers. He savored the curve of her hip under one hand, the rough slide of her palm against his other.

She looked like he felt—a little terrified and a little self-conscious, but above all ecstatic, overjoyed to be in the arms of the other at last—and when he took the first step forward, her foot instinctively stepped back, delicately, gracefully, as he'd known she would.

He gave a lopsided grin and angled his head. "You can kiss me again later, I promise. Whenever and however you want. But for now," he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing against her skin, "just follow my lead."


	14. Epilogue

**A/N:** And we've reached the end, hurrah! I hope it lived up to your expectations. I wanted to take my last chance to say thanks to all my readers, particularly those of you who reviewed (and really especially those who reviewed consistently - you guys are the best)! A special thank you to Stefanie for being my beta, cheerleader, and sounding board. :)

It's been such a fun journey between writing, posting, and talking to people about this story. Writers have fun creating, but sharing your work with other people is pretty much the best thing ever - thanks for going through this experience with me! I can't properly express my appreciation for all the kind words I've received from people, so one last time, THANK YOU!

**Epilogue**

"Hello. Vernon, is it?"

"Yes," said the whale at the door. The Dursleys owned a small cottage near the edge of the village with impeccably clean windows. "Who's asking?"

"Good day to you, sir." James offered his hand, but Vernon just stared at it with his piggy eyes, and James eventually let his hand drop. "I'm Prince James George Potter and I thought you should know that I'm going to be marrying your sister-in-law."

Never before had James savored revealing his title so much as in that moment, when a dull shade of purple crept up along Vernon's face.

"Now, see here," Vernon said, "I don't know who you are, thinking you can impersonate the prince—"

"Oh, I assure you, this is no impersonation. If you will, here is my ring—" James raised his hand, enclosed around a tightly-bound scroll, so Vernon could ogle the unmistakable ruby ring on James' finger, "—and here is a royal order relevant to your business interests."

"That's—you're not—_Lily Evans_?" Vernon spluttered.

A blonde stick of a woman joined Vernon at the door. "What's this about Lily?" Petunia asked, eyes darting between James and her husband. "What's she done now?"

"Nothing untoward," James assured her. "In fact, she's consented to marry me, which I suppose you could construe as a huge mistake, but naturally I am not of that opinion. Not after all the work it took to get her to agree, I can tell you that much. I'm Prince James George Potter, by the way, although I'm actually here about The Three Broomsticks."

Petunia's eyes narrowed. "You are _not_—"

Vernon's face snapped toward his wife. "Hush, Petunia!" He gave James a simpering smile. "Your Royal Highness, please, we beg of you to please enter our humble home."

"No time for that, I'm afraid," James said, reveling in the look of shock and disbelief on Petunia's horselike face. It would have been polite to enter, if only to let them shut the door and keep the fire's warmth from escaping, but the Dursleys mattered little to him. "I'm only here for a quick transaction. Here's your compensation." He pulled out a hefty sack of coins from his cloak pocket and offered both it and the scroll to Vernon. "And I'll be taking the deed to the pub, if you would be so kind as to fetch it for me."

They stared wide-eyed at James.

"Yes, of course," James added. "The scroll outlines the royal order instructing you to sell me the pub. Today. Right now, in fact. I'm prepared to offer a proper sum for it and everything. Well, I say offer, but really it's a charitable donation, if anything, since I am legally entitled to take whatever I please."

It took them a few attempts to understand, but eventually James walked away with the deed to The Three Broomsticks in hand, leaving a dumbfounded and outraged pair of Dursleys behind him. As he rounded the corner at the end of the street, he stopped and grinned.

"Was that everything you hoped it would be?" he asked.

"Everything I wanted and more," said an invisible Lily. She pulled down the Cloak's hood and beamed at him. "That was absolutely marvelous."

"I'm torn because I want to invite them to the wedding, if only for the novelty of seeing them watch you marry me. But on the other hand, I suspect they might make off with the silver. And my mother always loved that silver, more than was healthy for a human-utensil relationship."

"I have to invite them," Lily sighed. "She's my sister. We'll just sic Terry on them the whole time to keep them in line."

"You cruel minx, have I mentioned that I adore you?"

"Once or twice." She drew off the Cloak and folded it over one arm. "Not nearly enough, I'm sure."

He moved closer to her, and she took a step back, grinning, daring him to come closer. Her back hit the building behind her, and her smile grew coy.

He leaned forward to rest one palm on the wall next to her ear, his eyes fixed on hers, and then he kissed her, slowly and thoroughly. They'd shared plenty of kisses since the engagement ball, but he still delighted in each one, savoring the way they knocked every other important thought out of his head.

Merlin, he'd never had anything as marvelous as this, just being able to kiss the woman he loved whenever the mood struck. And she never held back either, always responding warmly, inviting him to keep going.

But after a minute he pulled back and cocked his head. "Did you want to invite Snape to the wedding, too? I mean, obviously Mary will have to come, and I suppose Evan and Edwin, too, but I didn't know what you wanted to do about Snape."

"You know," she said, cheeks a little flushed, "mentioning other men while snogging a lady isn't good for your reputation."

"Who needs a reputation?" He tilted a slow grin at her, their faces close enough that the fog from their breath intermingled. "I've already got the only girl worth having."

She playfully shoved his chest with one hand. "You don't _have _me."

"No. Not yet, technically, but as far as I care, you are mine."

"Well, fine," she said, going even pinker. "I can be yours so long as you're mine, too."

"No question. I am, unequivocally, all yours."

She dropped her gaze and her smile. "But whether to invite Sev…I'm not sure. On the one hand, he never—we never got around to making amends, after our last fight."

James took a small step backwards. "But…."

"He is—was—my best friend. But I think me marrying you—I don't think he'll ever forgive me for that."

James reached out and clasped her gloved hand. "You don't have to decide right now, only I did wonder, and I thought—"

"That's what was going through your head while we snogged?"

"Merlin, no. I just remembered I'd wanted to ask and didn't want to forget again."

"You lunatic."

"_Your_ lunatic."

"Admittedly and proudly so." She went up on her toes to peck him on the cheek. "Come on, let's give Mary the deed already. She's been dying to tell you she told you so."

He linked his arm through hers and set off for the pub. "I'm never one to disappoint."

"You just broke off mid-snog to discuss Severus Snape," Lily pointed out. "Don't talk to me about disappointment…."

* * *

James let out a loud wolf whistle.

Lily spun around from the window, the bottom of her dress twirling around her.

James didn't know much about dresses, but he felt confident concluding that Lily was the most beautiful bride he'd ever seen, and he'd been to more than his fair share of weddings. It gleamed white like sea shells in the afternoon sun, with a full skirt and long sleeves. On someone less elegant it might have looked stuffy, but it suited Lily somehow. It was a queen's wedding dress.

"It's bad luck to see me," she admonished, but she smiled.

He leaned against the doorway to her dressing chambers. "It can't negate the great luck I had in meeting you."

"There's no need to woo me, you know. Not at this stage. It's practically a done deal."

"Do you mind if I do anyway?"

"Not really."

"Then I'll carry on."

She sat on the edge of the vanity, adjusting one of the flowers in her hair. "I'm surprised you didn't bring Algernon."

"I was afraid he'd tear your dress," James admitted. "Remus is keeping him company in my dressing chambers."

"Actually, I'm glad you came by," she said slyly.

"Can't last five minutes without me, can you?"

"Can't make it two, as a matter of fact, but I was making do today. No, I was going to suggest something for the reception, but since you're here now..."

She rummaged through a drawer in the vanity, and turned around clutching—

"My hat!" James said, his throat tightening.

Lily strolled over to him. "You see, I know you hate your wedding hat."

"Oh, I do loathe it," James said earnestly. "I do."

"And I was thinking..." She waved his hat enticingly in front of him.

He beamed. "Would you do the honors?"

She snatched off his floppy wedding hat and let it drop to the ground in an ignominious heap. James bent down a little and she obliged him by tugging on his mother's hat.

James stood up straight and glanced in the mirror behind her. Objectively he knew he looked absurd, but he didn't care. If his mother couldn't attend his wedding, this would have to do.

"Now you look much more dashing," Lily said.

She reached up and adjusted the hat, and James grabbed her hand when she started lowering it, pulling her close until she was flush against him.

He smirked at her. "Not nearly as dashing as you, Prince Charming."

"Mmm, call me that again."

"Prince Charming," he murmured.

"Such sweet words." She ran a hand up his chest, fingering his collar. "Do we have time?"

James sent a locking spell at the door. "They can't start without us."

"Good enough for me," she said, leaning up on her toes for a kiss.

* * *

"And do you, James George Potter, take Lily Catherine Evans to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death you do part?"

"I do."

"The rings, please."

Algernon came trotting up the aisle, a smart bowtie around his neck and a ribbon clutched in his teeth, rings hanging down on either side….

* * *

"Ham? _Ham_?" James gave his cat a pitiful look. "Algernon, I won't tolerate this level of betrayal any longer."

Algernon had the temerity to preen.

"He's angry with you, of course."

James looked up from his sandwich to see Lily leaning against the doorframe to his study.

"And why's that?" he asked, mouth slanting into a grin.

"Because you kicked him out of the room last night." She pushed off the doorframe with her hip and sauntered over to stand in front of his desk.

"Well, I mean, I suppose if _you're _willing—no, no, not even then will I let Algernon watch," James said solemnly. "You will have to make do with me and me alone. I'd apologize, but you seemed to have no complaints. At least, not last night. If you do have one now, I'm afraid the process for filing a complaint takes at least six months. Paperwork backup, you see. Terrible shortage of good staff up in these mountainous parts."

She laughed, her head tilting back and her long hair swishing along her back. She came around to James' side of the desk and perched on the edge of it.

"I love when you talk dirty to me," she said dryly.

He grabbed her arm and tugged her toward to him, until she sat sideways on his lap, one of her arms looped around his neck.

Without instruction, one of his hands reached up and brushed a few hairs out of her face, his eyes locked on hers. She smelled wonderful—not like any particular scent, just her—and she was warm and there and marvelous. He'd learned, in the month since their wedding, every detail of her, and while they were all worthy of praise, above all he loved her mouth, probably. The way the corners were always a little curled up, always on the verge of breaking into a smile, ready to share in a good joke.

And James was happy to provide.

"Oh, if it's dirty talk you want," he said, "I've spent plenty of time with the guards over the years. 'There once was a man from Northampton—'"

She didn't interrupt, but James stopped anyway. There was something in the way she was looking at him, a fond, serious expression that he'd seen her wear before, but not like this. Not with this…intensity.

"What?" he asked.

"I love you," she said.

"Oh, that. 'Whose prick was so—'"

"James."

"Are you sure you don't want to hear the end of it? It's a really good one."

"James," she said, this time annoyed.

"Well, I don't know what you want from me," he said simply. "Did or did I not already dramatically announce my feelings?"

"Some level of acknowledgement is customary, I believe."

"You didn't feel acknowledged last night?"

"You come up with the most bizarre euphemisms."

"I'll acknowledge you again tonight so long as you take responsibility for kicking Algernon out of the room."

"And have him refuse to bring me bacon sandwiches?"

He waggled his eyebrows. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Then it's a deal," she said, laughing.

"And, Lily," James said, his voice dropping a pitch, "thank you for telling me."

She arched an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. "How could I not know? Not with the way you acknowledged me all night long."

"James."

He loved all the ways she could say his name, particularly the way she'd shouted it the night before. This latest iteration, verging on exasperation, suited him fine, too.

"And, well, you know, everything else you do," he said. "I…I know how you feel. I do, really, although I love hearing it, too. Don't mistake my jesting for me not wanting to hear it. In fact, you could tell me every day, and it'd only make me want to acknowledge you all the more."

"I'd ask you to stop ruining the word acknowledge but I've heard your other euphemisms."

"If you wanted to say I love you again, right now for instance, I wouldn't object. Not at all. Because you know I love you."

"Oh, _now_ you want me to say it."

"I always want you to say it," he said. "But I'll always know regardless…."

* * *

James shoved a hand through his hair. "What is he waiting for?"

"The death of you and your father, I should think," Dumbledore said.

James stopped pacing around his study and sank into his desk chair. "But why?"

"Turmoil?" Lily suggested. She sat in her preferred location, on the edge of his desk, one leg crossed over the other. "Peter would never be as popular as you. Slytherin has only taken your mother, who didn't have any real power. The throne is still solidly with the Potters."

"But he could just attack now and try to take it."

"And our troops would be ready," Lily said. "We haven't had such heavy defenses along the border in decades."

"Maybe he'll take to the sea, come around to Newcastle? Maybe he wants our troops along the border. Maybe he's made a pact with Ravenclaw, for all we know."

"I highly doubt it." Dumbledore sipped his tea in the seat across from James. "Although Voldemort has entrusted very few with his stratagems, our reconnaissance forces have heard little to lead us to suspect either Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw has betrayed us."

James slumped in his seat. "I hate waiting."

"There is, of course, another matter that requires investigation."

"I know," James said sourly. "But it can't be any of them. I looked into it and they all pan out. We've no reason to believe it was any of them. There must be someone else."

"Simple process of elimination suggests it must be one of these five."

"Let's go steal the pub back from Mary," James told Lily. "That sounds easier, and more fun."

"It must be one of them," she said gently. "Be reasonable."

"Well, it's not them, okay? Maybe I should ask my mates what they think. Peter knows some of the guards I don't. He might have a better ear to the ground."

Dumbledore gave James a sympathetic look. "Considering the fact that your friends also fit the criteria for appearing on the list—I'm aware of your objections to their inclusion, and I agree it is exceptionally unlikely that one of them is the guilty party—I must insist that this discussion does not broaden beyond the present parties."

"But they're my mates."

Lily was not as forgiving as Dumbledore. "James, you're being ridiculous. Why won't you even consider these five people?" She looked back and forth between James and Dumbledore. "There's something you're not telling me."

Dumbledore betrayed nothing, as James expected him to. Sadly James didn't have an equal amount of skill in hiding his reactions.

"What?" Lily demanded.

James hadn't liked keeping it from her, but he hated upsetting her, and he felt they'd quarreled over him enough.

"You're not going to like it," James said slowly.

"Tell me anyway."

James glanced at Dumbledore and mentally braced himself. "I think Snape found the tunnels and told Slytherin about them."

Lily's eyes didn't move from James' face while she considered this.

"What's he ever done to you?" she asked, her voice curt.

"I'm just saying, that's my working theory."

"Why would he even do that?"

James held his tongue, but Lily didn't speak either, only folding her arms over her chest.

"I don't have proof, obviously," James said, "so I didn't want to tell you."

And still she didn't answer, only now she'd stopped looking at James, instead gazing out to the starry sky behind him.

"He could have followed me one night," she said, so quietly James almost didn't hear. "He knew we were meeting."

James nodded carefully. "Or he could have followed me. Or any of my mates."

"He knows who you are."

"He does."

"He hates you."

"I'm well aware."

She bit her lip. "I haven't heard from him in months. Not since about the time we got engaged."

"Not at all?"

She met his eyes again and he hated that he played any part in putting that betrayed look on her face.

"Mary said he's left town," she said. "No one knows where he is…."

* * *

"Thank you, Professor McGonagall," James said, stepping up onto the platform. "It is my great honor to announce the first school of witchcraft and wizardry open to the general public."

The small crowd applauded where they stood fanned out around him. A fair number of witches and wizards had turned out onto the lawn in front of the main entrance to Hogwarts. The castle looked magnificently regal in the summer sun, its windows sparkling.

"We've been loath to admit it for centuries, but not all wizards and witches are of noble blood. These witches and wizards grow up fearing their own magic, and I find that personally reprehensible. Therefore, my new wife Lily and I are proud to open Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where all magical children can learn from some of the finest scholars of our time.

"This device," James said, holding up a thick, empty book, "will locate every magical child and invite them to study here, regardless of their birth. Scholarships will be available for those unable to afford tuition."

The Search Charm they'd developed had never found a Slytherin spy, and James still didn't know why that was the case, but the Wollstonecraft adjustment had worked for something after all.

"Hopefully future princes can find the loves of their lives at school instead of in pubs." He spared a quick glance at Lily and smiled. "I now turn things over to my magical anomaly, Lily Potter, who would like to explain some of the courses children will have the chance to attend…."

* * *

"And one day you'll get to grow up and take over for me," James murmured, "and I'm going to make sure you're so much better prepared than I ever was. Mummy will help with that, too, of course. She knows loads more than either of us combined. But I'll teach you Quidditch. She thinks it's silly but it's brilliant and I'll let you play all the time, and—"

"What are you telling him?"

James looked up from his son's beautiful, wrinkly face at Lily. She lay in their bed, her hair still plastered to her forehead, eyelids barely open. She smiled weakly at him.

"Only how amazing his mother is," James said softly. "He's just fallen asleep."

She yawned and pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Make sure you tell Harry how amazing his father is, while you're at it."

"He doesn't need to hear about that. My story's boring. Yours is the interesting one. From barmaid to queen. Now that's a good bedtime story."

"But it wouldn't have happened without you," she reminded him. "I'll make sure he hears both sides…."

* * *

James was glad it was raining the day of his father's funeral. It seemed appropriate, somehow.

Lily's hand didn't let go of his once, except when he got up to speak, and her hand found his again as soon as he finished.

He wished he could hold Harry right then and there, and promise him that his father would always be there for him, just like his grandfather had been. But Harry was safe, kept away from the bastards who'd somehow managed to take both of James' parents.

After they lowered the coffin into the grave, James lingered while most of the crowd dispersed, Lily's hand still gripping his.

Dumbledore approached them and nodded at James. "While we've a moment alone," he said, "I thought you should like to know that Moony reports good news from his position."

"Glad to hear it," James said around the lump in his throat. He wished Remus could have made the funeral, but he was too entrenched in reconnaissance to leave abruptly.

"And those in the Burrow report success on their efforts as well."

"This isn't the best time for news of the old crowd," Lily said, a little anguished. "We can discuss tactics later, any other day. Can't all this wait?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said, and James felt his stomach drop when he saw how distraught Dumbledore looked. "It is of the utmost importance that we act immediately. I have unfortunate news to deliver to the two of you, and the two of you alone. It concerns young Harry."

James had thought he'd felt his absolute worst when his mother died, and then again when he'd lost his father on top of it, but those moments of agony held nothing against the tide of terror that swept over him at even the mention of his son in danger.

Dumbledore spoke low and quickly. "I was fortunate enough to receive a prophecy directly from the source…."

* * *

Lily stood in front of the fire in the nursery, her back to the room, her shoulders tense. "Severus couldn't have caused George's death."

"No." James ruffled his hair dejectedly and sank lower into the armchair. "I know."

"There must be someone else."

"I'm aware."

Lily folded her arms and turned to James, looking half broken. "We can't risk Harry."

"You don't have a choice," Sirius said quietly, Harry sleeping soundly in his arms. "It's not the most heroic option, but this is your son, James."

James squeezed his eyes shut. "I can't abandon my people."

"You're not," Sirius assured him. "You're protecting the future king. You can still lead from seclusion."

"It'll only be until we can figure out who the spy is," Lily said. "We can't let them get Harry."

James let out a slow, deep breath. "For a bit," he conceded. "Only to give ourselves more time. And only if you're Secret Keeper, Sirius."

A sly grin broke across Sirius' face. "They'll be expecting that. I've got a better idea..."

* * *

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off—"_


End file.
